


One More For The Road

by Eravalefantasy



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Chantry explosion, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Modern Thedas, Templars (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2019-09-29 06:25:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17198231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eravalefantasy/pseuds/Eravalefantasy
Summary: A prompt fill for LoreKeeper427Modern Thedas with Cullen Rutherford and Valerie Trevelyan, meeting in Kirkwall with an implied love at first sight feel.A memorial service on the anniversary of the Chantry explosion brings two broken people together. Inspired by the prompt and the song made popular by Frank Sinatra "One For My Baby" written by Johnny Mercer and Harold Arlen.





	1. One For My Baby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LoreKeeper427](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoreKeeper427/gifts).



> My thanks to LoreKeeper427 for the challenge.

 

“It’s a quarter to three,” Cullen said, running his fingers through his hair. He stared at his reflection in the mirrored wall in front of him. Bottles lined the short risers in front of the mirror, all in varying states of emptiness; a reflection of how he’d felt over the last month.

In the dim light, his hair seemed paler, washed out and almost devoid of color—no hint of his usual warmth in his blonde hair. He stared again at his unruly curls; smoothing with his fingers, he soon gave up hope of fixing his appearance. _Not like there’s anyone who’d care._

He picked up the short, round glass and jiggled it; melting ice cubes clinked against the sides. The bartender Joe nodded once; he knew the unspoken request. Set it up and pour me another. 

Watching the bartender fill his glass, the amber-colored liquid appeared darker than Cullen remembered; a trick of the light, he guessed. _Or a sign it’s time to go home._

Cullen slid his money across the bar only to meet with a refusal. “This one’s your last and it’s on me. You’ve more than earned it; besides, I know what today is too, you know.”

“Right,” Cullen laughed, or had intended to but it came out somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “It’s been a year, Joe.” He lifted the glass to Joe with thanks, and once more to an empty seat to his right. “And one more for my baby.”

Grabbing a rag, Joe shook his head. “She’s gone my friend and not coming back.”

Cullen shrugged. Josselyn died while on assignment. Bad timing had placed him on leave without her; she’d accepted the mission and told Cullen the guard detail in the city would prove far easier than any other assignment. They couldn’t know about the planted explosives at the Chantry. Another Templar lost in the line of duty. _No_ , he thought, pounding the rest of his drink. _Not another Templar, my Joss._ He jiggled the glass again. Meeting with a firm shake of Joe’s head, Cullen complained. “There’s no one in the place, who’s to know?”

Pointing across the bar, Joe pointed toward one of the back tables.  “I’d know.” Turning around, Cullen’s attention fell on a woman he’d seen enter hours before. “Seeker,” Joe said, his voice low. “Lost her brother when,” he paused. “Well, you probably knew him. She’s been here every night for a week, and she never made it to the memorial—remind you of anyone?”

“Perhaps,” Cullen said. He’d not attended either. Cullen couldn’t go through with it; the thought of hearing Josselyn’s name among the victims kept him firmly planted on the bar stool. He shifted again, his attention fixed on the woman. Her red hair clung to its braid, time had loosened the twists and turns giving her a slight disheveled appearance. Her clothes carried the wrinkles of one who had slept without changing them. He knew it well. He’d nearly turned around before a lock of her hair slipped from its place and fell in her face.

Small tremors in her hand grabbed his attention. He remembered the same betrayal of calm when he’d first learned what had happened. “Give me two of whatever she’s having,” he slid his money across the bar again, and his eyes widened as two mugs took residence in front of him.

“Sorry, my friend. It’s just tea,” Joe smiled and tapped a finger to his temple. “It’s better for you at least,” he said. “Name’s Trevelyan, Valerie. I’ve had a room reserved for her since she arrived, but the lady?” Joe leaned closer. “I think she’s sleeping near the Chantry site. If you could work some of that old-”

Cullen cut him off with a raised hand. “That’s not who I am anymore, but I’ll see what I can do.” The men and women who’d served under Cullen considered him one of the best. Well respected, Cullen often took the most troubling of cases. His ability to think logically under pressure and remain calm served in the most troubling of times. Until the explosion. Josselyn's death blamed for his withdrawal, Cullen retired within weeks of her death. 

He recalled the surname of Trevelyan, another Templar—a lieutenant. _Aidan. Good man._ He’d been one of the half dozen on duty at the Chantry when the bombs exploded.

Pushing the thought away, Cullen crossed the bar and paused a foot away from the table. Her tear-streaked face almost had him turning around to leave her in peace, but when she spoke, he froze.

“I’m not looking for company.”

Even in her grief, her voice carried strength. _She’s accustomed to giving orders_ , he guessed.

 “My name is Rutherford. Cullen.” He wondered if offering Aidan’s name would sour the conversation before it even began. “I was Aidan’s captain.”

She nodded. “I. . .remember. He spoke of you often.” Shaking away some unknown thought, she cleared her throat. “Valerie—Val Trevelyan.” Noting the mug in his hand, she gestured to the chair across from her. “Thank you, Commander Rutherford.” Valerie’s eyes remained unfocused, fixed on the space in front of her.

He placed the cup near her hands. “Cullen, please. I . . .um, wondered how you were doing.”

A false smile appeared, with no emotion behind it, Cullen recognized much of where he’d been the past year. “My brother is dead and no memorial is going to change that fact. How do you think I’m doing?” She closed her eyes. “That was unfair. I apologize.”

He’d not talked of Josselyn to anyone; hadn’t wanted to, but something compelled him to speak. “Her name was Josselyn, she guarded the Grand Cleric that afternoon. We were . . .we,” he couldn’t say it, Cullen couldn’t admit what they’d meant to one another; promises, oaths and plans all ended in a blast and fire.

Only then did Valerie’s eyes raise to meet his and everything changed. She gasped. At least Cullen assumed it to be Valerie, he couldn’t be sure. He remembered her, from the flash of gold streaked green eyes, to the thin scar beneath her right eye, he knew her.

He shook free of the thought; it wasn’t possible. They’d only just met, but Cullen fell into the chair across from her transfixed. Neither spoke; Cullen sure they’d met at some point in the past, he searched his memories for Valerie’s image. Finding nothing, he inhaled and tried his luck with words.

“Forgive me, but do we. . .that is, have we-”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so, but,” Valerie’s forehead creased, “maybe?”

Cullen tried to rationalize the oddity of feeling; the lightheadedness because of too much drink and far too little sleep gave way to a passing attraction to a lovely woman in emotional distress. He needed sleep and a break.

“All this stress surrounding the memorial and-” He stopped. Josselyn. Cullen realized the familiarity of feeling only now; his stomach flipped end over end when Valerie interrupted him.

“I’m confused,” she began. “I haven’t slept well since arriving, and I don’t know. Somehow, I’d hoped the message had been wrong and Aidan. . .and Aidan still lived. A trick, don’t you see? One of his horribly ill-timed and inappropriate tricks.” She seemed to plead with her eyes, searching his face for even a faint bit of hope.

He answered in a near whisper. “How I wish I could tell you it wasn’t true.”

Valerie’s exhale, choppy and strained revealed far more emotion than Cullen knew how to process. He’d often stared at the door of his apartment, waiting for Josselyn to walk through it, slide AJ the mabari out of her way and greet him with a laugh, complaining of AJ’s massive frame blocking her way. His eyes teared without permission and the intensity of feeling pulled him to his feet.

“Please don’t go.” The timidity to her voice gripped his chest. “I. . .I don’t want to be alone. This city has too many ghosts.”

Something inside him answered silently. _You can’t leave her, not like this._ Propriety argued right back, citing how it might look if he stayed with her. She must have seen the struggle on his face and blushed realizing how her plea crossed a line.

She stammered and gathered a tattered bag in her arms. He recognized the faded maroon and gold piping on the grey pack. Standard issue for a Templar. Valerie slid from her chair and turned from him; her face still burning with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean . . .never mind. Thank you for the company—and the tea. Goodbye _Cullen_.”

It was the way his name fell from her lips; a half whisper carried with it such inflection as if she’d been meant to speak his name. He’d been numb since that night, but in but a few moments something had reawakened in him, and he knew one thing: letting Valerie walk away would haunt him the rest of his days.

“Please. Give me a moment.” He held out his hand, a plea to remain and hurried back to the bar. “I know you want to close up for the night, but I’ll pay for your time.”

Joe pointed toward the exit. “You might want to check with the lady,” he said. “Looks like she’s about to run out.”

Cullen glanced over his shoulder to see Valerie hurrying toward the door and out into the street. A quick apology carried him in her direction, calling after her. “Miss Trevelyan! Valerie!” Anxious steps followed her, calling out once more. “Val!”

She wheeled around, her brows knit together as she stopped her escape, giving Cullen time to reach her. Small shakes of her head seemed to reply to an unasked question. “Who are you?” She hugged the bag to her chest. “I don’t understand what is happening. We’ve never met, I’m sure, but Maker take me, I know you.”

He nodded, raising his hands in surrender; Cullen wanted to prove Valerie could trust him. “I know. Tell me how to put your mind at ease.” He stood apart from her, not wanting to crowd her and still find some way to offer comfort.

Clutching the bag to her, Valerie shook in slight tremors. “I’m so tired. If I could rest for even a short while.” Her chest heaved a few times before she continued. “When I close my eyes, I see my brother and I can’t sleep.”

Standing a fair distance apart, Cullen approached in slow, even steps. “I remember the same. I was always sure the footsteps in the hall were hers. They weren’t. I took a long time to accept it.”

“And now?”

Continuing closer he shrugged. “I toasted her in the bar, as if she sat next to me.” A sarcastic laugh fell as he considered his admission. “AJ, the mabari, is better adjusted than me and sleeps without issue. Truth is, I’m a bit jealous he could move on so easily while I sit and talk to a ghost who has never answered.”

She swayed on her feet. Seeing her weakened stance, Cullen rushed toward her, steadying her at the elbow. “Are you, all right? I can take you back to the Hanged Man.”

Shaking her head, Valerie asked for help. Once more a war of manners waged in his head; the Hanged Man was one of several options for lodging, but almost all would recognize him. Valerie Trevelyan needed help not more scrutiny from Kirkwall’s curious. The only option Cullen found open to them would lead them to his home. At first, the suggestion caught in his throat worrying how it might sound.

Cullen had to consider Valerie’s state of mind. In easier times, perhaps she was a Seeker. Known for their unshakeable inner fortitude and unwavering sensibilities, clearly the woman before him stood broken and vulnerable. In his analysis, Cullen found a simplistic answer. AJ. “I must see to my mabari first, it will take a few minutes if he cooperates, but after I can see you wherever you wish to go.”

It wasn’t a ruse, AJ expected time at night to run around as part of his nightly routine. Cullen had already pushed the limits with his late night. And yet, AJ had a way with people. He’d been a part of Cullen’s life since he wandered into the Templars training area years ago. AJ had likely been abandoned in the city, mabari hounds were a handful from puppyhood onward. At the time, Cullen simply agreed to allow the mabari a place to sleep, but in the end AJ remained.

AJ and Josselyn tolerated one another, Cullen had always assumed it jealousy on both sides, although he never showed a preference of one over the other. It simply didn’t make sense. The short walk over, Cullen remembered. “Are you comfortable with mabari? They’re often a bit,” he paused searching for the proper word.

Valerie answered for him. “Insistent? We had several growing up. Most seemed to follow Aidan in his travels.” A light laugh escaped with the memory. “Had our mother not refused, we might have ended up with our own pack.”

The lightness returned to his chest, its warmth coaxing a smile to Cullen’s face. “It’s the little boy inside. We can’t help ourselves.”

“Ah,” she said, throwing a glance toward him. “That explains it.”

Cullen couldn’t be sure, but he thought he’d heard a touch of sarcasm to her comment and a quick peek at Valerie’s face revealed a hint of a smile. A tease almost slipped free until Cullen’s better sense squashed the idea. _You’re offering aid, and nothing more._

Given the late, or early hour the large apartment building sat dark and quiet, until Cullen climbed the steps and slipped a large brass key into the door. Heavy barks gave way into even louder whines and Cullen hurried to open the door.

He felt Valerie’s presence behind him. “AJ, I presume.”

“Yes, well. He’ll stop in a moment.”

Quick steps carried him down a short hall where the sounds grew to a deafening frenzy. With only seconds more before neighbors would wake and complain, Cullen deftly unlocked the door and opened it, blocking the exit.

A mass of brown and black fur flew through a small gap. AJ bounded toward the front door and skidded to a halt turning around. Round, brown eyes widened.

“Please, make yourself at home and I’ll return in a moment.”

And then Valerie did the unexpected. She crouched, still clutching the bag tight to her person, but she spoke to AJ, ignoring Cullen’s words. “You must be AJ,” she said.

The mabari cocked his head to the side; eyes firmly locked on her. When Cullen put a gentle hand on the hound’s collar, the mabari shrugged free, moving closer to Valerie.

She held out her hand. “I’m a friend.”  Inching closer, the mabari sniffed the air around her and whined. Cullen offered soothing words and tried to lead AJ away, but the mabari refused to move. When Valerie stood and asked if she should wait inside, Cullen nodded.

“Come on AJ, we’ll make it fast.”

AJ followed Valerie inside, and Cullen had little choice but to join them. “I must apologize, AJ is not usually this rude. I can’t say what’s gotten into him.” Offering a seat to her, Cullen tried once more to convince the mabari to leave.

“I’ve upset the balance, he’s probably not happy I’m here.”

AJ barked, growling at Cullen. “He’s never this lippy either,” Cullen said with a hint of annoyance directed at AJ. “You’re behaving rather badly there, friend. Not a good showing in front of the lady.”

With one eye on AJ, Cullen noted Valerie taking in the living room. The apartment had been his; Josselyn had no desire to change it when she’d moved in. The living room appeared smaller than it was thanks to the bookcases lining the walls. Books were an obsession, a means to unwind, escape and most importantly to learn as much as possible. His living space wasn’t fit for entertaining with large overstuffed chairs and a single long sofa chosen for relaxation over social engagements.

For the first time since leaving The Hanged Man, Valerie placed her pack down; her attention pulled toward the stacks of books. “Look at them,” her voice near breathless, a hand hovered over the spines as small steps carried her along the cases. She turned to face him, her hand retreating to her chest. “May I?”

Resisting the urge to smile at her fascination, he nodded first. “Of course.” The comparison to Josselyn entered his head; she cared little for his books, and although it never bothered him, seeing Valerie’s utter fascination moved him. “I can take your coat,” he said, quickly adding, “if you’d like to stay. You’re more than welcome to rest here.”

Cullen fully expected her to decline; it made sense, the idea Valerie would want to rest in the home of someone she’d met a little over an hour ago was ridiculous.

“I’d like that.”

Her soft agreement stunned him. “You’re more than welcome.”

“You just said that.”

He reached for his neck, a nervous tick Cullen thought he’d beaten years ago. “So I did.”


	2. The Second Time Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three days had passed since Cullen met Valerie by chance. Unable to keep his thoughts free of her, he resolved to slow down and follow a path of restraint. When Cullen and AJ took to Kirkwall's streets for their morning run, a very clever mabari set Cullen on a different path-the one he needed to take.

Even the sun rose earlier than expected as if she couldn’t wait any longer. Bouncing straight into morning, Kirkwall’s usual gloom had shrunk in the anticipation of a rare and beautiful day. AJ’s excited leaps and turns made a leash impossible and Cullen conceded to his companion’s excitement; the mabari far too energetic to be corralled in any way.

Three days had passed since he’d met Valerie Trevelyan and been unable to let go. Somehow in a chance meeting in the middle of the night, everything he knew and everything he’d sworn had changed. She’d rested only one night in Cullen’s apartment, his insistence on finding a suitable hotel finally agreed upon by his guest. Neither Cullen nor AJ wished to see her go, but the notion everything had happened too fast, too inexplicably odd forced his hand.

It was all too easy; Valerie seemed to fit in his home as though it had been meant for her. It just wasn’t possible. He was lonely and understood her pain. She sensed a kindred in him as well and they—they connected. Nothing had happened between them although he admitted to himself there was more than loss and aloneness. It wouldn’t have been right, not then and not now. They’d only just met, but the torrent of emotions couldn’t be ignored. He would do the right thing, take it slow and wait.

Cullen stopped calling after AJ, ahead of him by at least a half block; once he could reach the mabari, Cullen would try again. AJ knew better than to take to the streets, even he watched for trucks and cars on his way. When Cullen crossed toward Hightown, he realized where AJ had led him—straight toward the hotel.

“AJ, come back!”  The headstrong mabari cared little for rules or propriety; he’d enter the hotel lobby unless Cullen reached him in time. As he neared the hotel, Cullen’s breath caught. AJ had company.  It shouldn’t have surprised Cullen to find Valerie awake at the early hour; she’d managed the same on the previous day asking him to share the morning meal with her as thanks.

She glanced his way. A rush of color brightened her cheeks before she looked away, halting his steps. _What am I doing?_ He argued silently that it was AJ who chose the direction, and embarrassment tacked on a smile for good measure.  Cullen couldn’t let on he’d been duped by a dog, no matter how clever. He wanted to see Valerie; AJ sped things along.

Valerie stood, but continued to scratch AJ’s head and ears. “Lost someone?” Cullen couldn’t quite explain the change in her from their first meeting. They’d met in a washed out monochrome night of sadness and self-loathing. But she stood before him luminous and untroubled.

“It seems so,” he said, fighting back the embarrassment at his stare. “At the risk of embarrassing myself more, you rival the sun this morning my lady.”

Her lips curved up, smiling as a flush covered her cheeks. “Oh, that was. . . Cullen, I’m. . .I’m speechless.” She covered her mouth with her hand and laughed. “But say it again.”

He laughed along with her, so taken by the ease at which they could tease. After the laughter subsided, he shrugged. “Was it the _my lady_ I added? Too much?” He joined her, and wished her a good morning. “AJ brought me.”

“AJ brought you? And here I was hoping you were out this morning because you couldn’t wait to see me again.”

 She’d grown more confident. A tweak of embarrassment crawling up his neck pulled his hand up.

Her joy faded slightly as he rubbed his neck. “I’ve embarrassed you. Cullen, don’t. It’s just me, remember? You’ve seen me at my absolute worst and without you,” she said with a sigh, “let’s just say you’ve gotten under my skin.”

Unsure what to say, despite a number of affirmations and agreements in his thoughts, his eyes fell away from her. “I. . .it’s too soon.”

It was she who stepped into him. “Is it? Is it really? I am expected home in Ostwick, but I can’t go. I know you’ve been hurt, I know I could never replace your loss.”

“Valerie—wait.”

Her eyes held his. “No, let me say this, please. If I leave without doing one thing, I’ll wonder for the rest of my life if I made a horrid mistake. But if I do this, I may never go back.”

She stood so close, Cullen whispered, “do what?” Anticipation flowed through him awakening every nerve.

“If it’s not too much trouble, could I. .  .could I kiss you?”  

His reply fell out in a breathy whisper. “I want to,” Cullen hesitated and then sighed. It was no lie. Their intoxicating closeness played on his mind. And then it happened. Time slowed, and sounds diminished, until all that remained was Valerie. Glinting sunlight on her hair and face softened; the glow accentuating golden flecks in the pools of green holding him transfixed.

The tip of her tongue darted between her lips, and despite the quick motion, he stared. He could kiss her; he could do as she’d asked, but dark clouds of doubt descended, accentuating Cullen’s thundering heart.

 _It wouldn’t been proper. It’s been days. I shouldn’t._ His thoughts conflicted in his body until he realized the earlier joy on her face had disappeared. The taut line that had pulled them closer slackened; Valerie’s disappointment evident as she looked away.  

In that moment of clarity Cullen realized he hadn’t answered as she’d expected.

“But, you won’t. I. . .I’m sorry, I thought,” she pressed her lips together, shoulders sagging. Shifting toward the entryway, Valerie didn’t face him. “Goodbye, Cullen.”

He tried to speak. The apology sat numb on his tongue, unwilling to burst free releasing the truth behind it. Don’t go. His hand reached for her arm but missed and he grabbed only air and stumbled forward. Valerie didn’t look back.

Indecision and self-protection had won, but at a cost. He felt the loss of her, the disappointment of a missed opportunity all for the sake of remaining safe. Safe. Any time anyone had shown an interest, Cullen pulled away, not wanting to open his heart as he had with Josselyn. _She’s dead._ He stumbled forward once more, this time urged by AJ. The mabari’s head impacted with Cullen’s thigh twice more.

“Stop it,” he said. The warning low and direct, Cullen’s frustration wasn’t meant for AJ. He closed his eyes and exhaled, hoping the cleansing breath would help his indecision.

 _Yes, Josselyn is dead. You aren’t. Neither is Valerie._ To his right, Valerie stood before the revolving glass door at the hotel’s entrance, as if she debated crossing the threshold. Others moved around her, traveling in and out without noticing her presence.  

This was it. Be it the Maker, the universe or some unseen force, Cullen saw her immobility as one final opportunity. He would need to decide and now. “What do you fear?” He whispered the question aloud, but Valerie turned and faced him as if she had heard.

If he remained rooted, if he took no chances what would happen? Valerie would leave. She might return, she might continue to talk with him, but if he did not act? _I can’t let her go_ , he thought. “Maker take me, I can’t let her go.”

Cullen broke into a run just as Valerie stepped toward the revolving door. “Valerie!” Surprised at the insistence and near desperation in his voice, he understood the concern on her face; tentative steps carried her closer.

“What’s wrong?”

The words swam through his head with his hurried steps, but upon reaching her he said nothing, his hands cupping her face just before his lips covered hers. _Don’t go_ , he thought before realizing he had to speak the words aloud. Cullen lifted his head, ending the kiss. “Don’t go,” he said, resting his forehead against hers. “Please don’t go,” he continued, “I don’t understand, but I want to try.”

She sighed, and a simple sound carried so much contentment. “Was that a kiss? It was a bit of blur.” Valerie shifted apart, and the smile on her face coaxed a laugh from him. Leading her away from the hotel entrance, it occurred to him he’d kissed her in in full view of at least a half dozen people. He was almost grateful that no one commented or seemed to look their way. A tinge of embarrassment crept up his neck, but Valerie’s warm and reassuring hold on his hand chased his uncertainty away once more.

“That was um. . .really nice.” Face wrinkling at the poor choice of words, Cullen shook his head. “I’m a bit out of practice it seems.”

“Oh,” she said, tracing the scar on his chin with her thumb. “A bit out of practice? I couldn’t possibly judge based on one kiss. I’d need at least a few more—for comparison, of course.”

l-l-l

They had parted after several false starts and traded promises to connect that evening. Even after Valerie entered the hotel lobby, he stood there half expecting her to return. It took a gentle reminder from AJ in the form a playful nip on Cullen’s hand to pull him free.

Kirkwall’s sunlit sky dulled behind midmorning clouds. The air turned heavy and cloying, sweat and heat growing more uncomfortable. When AJ panted from the effort and took a break on a patch of grass, Cullen turned them toward home. “All right, buddy. That’s it we’re done.” A half-hearted whine of complaint lifted AJ from his rest.

With AJ in mind, he stopped to purchase water but the shop keeper refused any payment. Explaining the drink was for AJ, the man brought out a bowl and waited with Cullen while the mabari slurped and lapped up every drop. They talked about nothing in particular. The weather, the memorial services, and even AJ’s noisy drinking habits.  Cullen didn’t understand the show of respect from people he didn’t know. He’d been a Templar and served the Chantry and the city, but none of his years of service warranted the attention he received after his retirement.

Before he could protest, the shopkeeper invited Cullen inside and insisted he accept the hospitality offered. The man’s son behind the counter shrugged. “Just go with it Ser. My father is even more stubborn than your mabari I’d wager.”

Cullen conceded, but managed to slip several gold coins into the tip jar. “For a rainy day and the trouble.”

 l-l-l

Struggling to fit several unruly locks of hair into place, Cullen stared into the mirror. His phone sat on the edge of the sink; the display illuminated with a single name and number.

AJ would need someone to look in on him if his planned day ran late. In Kirkwall, favors lived on far longer than they should. He’d called the one person he could trust.

It took three rings until the phone connected. “You’ve reached the magnificent Marion Hawke, champion of Kirkwall, protector of the weak and your bestest friend ever. How’s it hanging, Cullen?”

Cullen resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Really Marion? Bestest. . .what did you say?” Her laughter carried loudly through the speaker. “Never mind, I need a favor.”

The sounds of movement and a muffled few words changed Marion’s tone. “Ooh, a favor. Let me guess. The latest issue of Templar Today hits and you want a half dozen copies,” she snorted, “or maybe there’s a run on men’s shirts downtown and you want me to help you choose just the right shade of maroon! That’s it! Right?”

He tried to hide his exasperation, but Cullen knew Marion would continue if he didn’t stop her. “Hawke. Please.”

Marion’s scoff filled the small space. “Please what!? I though we were friends!”

Keeping his tone low and even, Cullen reassured her. “Of course we are.”

“Oh, oh really! So, tell me, _friend_ , why did I have to hear about you kissing some woman this morning from four different people and you couldn’t be bothered to tell me you met someone? I mean come on, Cull! This is big news! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Marion,” Cullen knew she wasn’t listening as her tirade continued without acknowledging him.

“I mean seriously! You. Cullen- I’ll-never-find-anything-so-real-again-Rutherford reportedly liplocked with a woman _I don’t know_ in broad daylight and I had to find out second, third and fourth hand!”

Instead of arguing, Cullen explained only what he was willing to share. He’d met Seeker Valerie Trevelyan a few nights prior and they planned to meet again that evening.

“Get to the kiss,” she pressed him for details.

“Marion.” He wouldn’t outright refuse, but Cullen had no intention of sharing any part of his morning.

Another voice joined in; softer and apologetic. “Leave Cullen alone. It’s sweet. He deserves a little happiness especially after-”

Cullen’s throat clenched in anticipation of what Merrill planned to say, but Marion intervened. “Yes, Merrill, it is sweet, but that’s not the point I’m trying to make.” Scuffles and complaints forced Cullen to pull the phone from his ear. “Hey give that back!”

After Hawke shouted, Cullen chanced returning the phone so that he might hear. Merrill spoke. “I didn’t mean to bring up painful thoughts, but we are happy for you. Hawke is rather cross and doesn’t look at all pleased. We’ll call you back.”

Staring at his now silent phone, Cullen had to laugh. Merrill was good for Hawke. Far more relaxed and soft spoken, she had an uncanny ability to offset Hawke’s often fiery and brash approach to almost everything.

He wondered if Valerie would mind a quick message. Cullen normally found texts impersonal and something of a nuisance, but the memory of her coaxed a smile. He cheeks tingled and burned as he searched for the perfect sentiment, his thoughts racing back to their kisses. “Stop that,” he said aloud settling on something so innocent and boring it wouldn’t disturb her or prompt an immediate response. 

_Thinking of you._

It took less than a second for a return message.

_Save me, please._

His eyes widened at her plea, but Cullen decided the message likely steeped in sarcasm and thought for a moment on a proper reply.

_On my way, my lady. As soon as my trusted steed is fed._

A small rectangle covered his message screen announcing Hawke’s call. Cullen swiped the box to the left and waited for Valerie’s reply.

_Trusted steed? That’s cute. So, is it true mabari can eat their weight in food?_

For a moment, he wondered if Valerie was simply being polite and in truth he was interrupting her meeting.

_It seems that way with AJ some days. If I am interrupting you, apologies._

Another announcement of an incoming call from Hawke met with a slightly more forceful swipe on the phone’s display. Cullen dropped onto the couch, holding the phone in his hand bristling with anticipation.

_Interrupting me? No. Distracting me? Most definitely, but a very welcome distraction._

Cullen hated meetings. He knew they were often circular discussions that often devolved into arguments about nothing.

_I take it your meeting is disagreeable then?_

A third time the phone announced a call from Hawke and a third time Cullen dismissed the call. This time a message notification popped up from Hawke.

_ANSWER THE FUCKING PHONE!!!!!!_

“All capital letters. Must be serious,” he commented, nearly rolling his eyes at her impatience. Cullen would have to call her, but to do so would mean an end to his conversation with Valerie. Another notification popped up and Cullen quickly opened Valerie’s message.

_To say the least. How soon can you meet me? I’m almost done here._

He checked the time. If he could keep Hawke to a brief conversation, then he could meet Valerie within the hour. Cullen’s fingers quickly typed out the message.

_I could leave now, but I suspect you’d like a little time to yourself?_

While he waited for the reply, Cullen ran through at least half a dozen places they could enjoy the afternoon. The waterfront, while not a favorite of Cullen’s boasted a few locations with lovely views and more than decent fare.

_Right now would be perfect, but you’re right. Give me two hours? And nothing fancy, it’s the company I’m interested in. See you._

The sly grin that crept to his face slipped into his reply.

 _Then I shall arrive to save you as bidden. Two hours my lady, and then I'm yours_.

He groaned as soon as the typed message appeared on his screen. “That’s just horrible.” He sent an apology.

_Please forgive me and my attempt at cleverness. Hopefully it wasn’t as terrible as it read._

Cullen hadn’t ever mastered the art of subtleties in teasing; his usual dry wit was often overlooked as cluelessness. In this moment, he didn’t want to appear as such. He’d thought it was clever, without realizing the sentiment could be interpreted poorly. “It was creepy and you know it,” the self-admonishment spoken aloud meant to underline his mistake. “Don’t muck this up.” The phone still gripped in his hand buzzed; he would find out if he’d gone too far. Cullen opened the message received from Valerie.

_Both you and your cleverness are adorable. I’ll be waiting._

Cullen stared at her response for several minutes; sure his face might crack from the ridiculous amount of smiling he’d done in the past hour alone. He exhaled closing his eyes. _You are allowed to enjoy this_ , he thought. _Don’t overthink_. _Breathe_.

Taking another deep breath, he settled against the couch again and prepared to get back to Marion. A flood of text messages blinked onto his screen; each with an increasing number of exclamation points reminded him that Marion had lost all patience. Armed with the thought only a few short hours would see him in Valerie’s company once again, he dialed Hawke’s number and waited for the verbal onslaught.  She didn’t even bother with a greeting.

“Have you lost your mind? Since when do you ignore an incoming call? From me?!”

It would do little good to argue with Hawke at this point. “I was on another call—sort of.”

“Sort of? Sort of?? Who are you and what have you done with Cullen?” She scoffed. “Look, forget all that. We’ve got a huge problem and you need to forget about one Valerie Trevelyan—but quick!”

He snorted a laugh. “Not bloody likely.”

A loud, annoyed growl traveled through the phone, finding a raw nerve at the base of Cullen’s neck. “Look, my friend, I get it. You’ve had it rough, but this is not the woman for you. You’ve got to trust me. I knew I recognized the name, it took Merrill five minutes to pull it up and it’s not good for you and Kirkwall.”

The nerve sent pulsing waves of sharp pain, aggravating Cullen’s usual calm. “Now just a moment! This is. . .this is. . .this is ridiculous, Marion. I can assure you there is no catastrophe facing me or Kirkwall from the lady. So, enough. I know what I’m doing.”

Cullen fought the need to disconnect the call, despite Marion’s obvious issue with Valerie. They hadn’t even met and already Hawke had decided the apocalypse was at hand. But it was Marion’s sardonic laugh that surprised him.

“Do you really? Do you really know what you are doing? Did you even bother to do any research at all? She’s playing you Cullen.” Stunned to silence, he heard the shuffling of papers and Marion continued. “You’re sure the name means nothing to you? Think Cullen. Think.”

Despite being alone, he shrugged. “Her brother Aidan served with me in the Order. I knew the family. Valerie arrived for the memorial.”

“Ha!” Marion’s incredulity no less diminished through the phone. “You’re a Templar and you really don’t recognize one of the Chantry’s emissaries? Lady Valerie Trevelyan just happens to be the fucking Right Hand to Divine Victoria.”


	3. Just One of Those Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memory and emotion collide for Cullen. He searches through the ruins of the past to move forward, but Hawke isn't convinced Cullen knows what's best.

“Lady Valerie Trevelyan just happens to be the fucking Right Hand to Divine Victoria.”

Cullen pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it, wondering if all of it could be a cruel joke. Marion possessed a strange sense of humor and often said the worst possible thing at the worst possible time all to get a rise out of him.  This would surpass every stunt in all the years they’d been friends. Divine Victoria had condemned the Order for its mishandling and lax security at Kirkwall’s Chantry, and in doing so held Cullen directly responsible for the attack. He hadn’t time to process Josselyn’s death; he couldn’t speak to numbers or causes. He’d received the call from Orlais within the first twelve hours after the explosion; the Most Holy demanded answers for those lost and why the search hadn’t yielded any answers.

_Gross negligence. Hide behind your rites and rituals, but you are not the Order of old. How many died on your watch Knight Commander? Tell me, please. I wish to know._

Remembering the Divine’s displeasure and condemnation renewed the hole in his soul he worked hard to ignore. He raised the phone to end the call and excused himself. “Marion, I. . .I can’t.”

“Cullen? Shit. Cullen?” He heard Marion promise she was on her way.

He tossed the phone to the couch and raised his hand to his temple; Cullen’s memories fought to escape the walls he’d erected to forget.  So many others had chosen to hide from the real world, but Marion refused to allow Cullen to succumb, she and Merrill strengthened his hold on the present—helping him through the worst. Night after night he woke slicked in sweat, a scream stuck in his throat. His skin burned as if ignited by the fires that consumed the Chantry.

The Divine repeated her disappointment without end both privately and publicly. Kirkwall stood behind him; Cullen had helped far too many to be ignored. Many knew his personal loss, but not one of those citizens who volunteered in the weeks that passed ever blamed him for what had occurred.

He closed his eyes, willing away the increasing weight on his chest and limbs. He needed to remember, not the events, but a certain person. The emissary had visited him at the Gallows. She’d appeared without warning, standing in the doorway of his office. He struggled to remember her face and voice; all that remained were her words. _It is in your best interest to resign—for personal reasons. Call it what you will, only do so quickly._

He’d said nothing at the time, merely nodding before she left. Cullen couldn’t recall if the emissary had even offered her name before she spoke. _I would have remembered Valerie. I am fairly certain it was not she who delivered the Most Holy’s directive._

Even after he resigned, Cullen continued to serve; no matter his failure to protect Kirkwall, what the city needed most were those willing to stand. He counted himself among the bereaved, but reported for civilian duty despite Josselyn’s death. The daily routine provided him with a distraction and kept him from breaking apart; it wasn’t his time to mourn.  
Flashes of memory scrambled to be seen. Tear streaked faces sought confirmation, daring to hope for miracles. Ashes fell across the city, mocking life-giving rain in its slow descent.

Even the thought brought back the acrid stench of fires that burned for days. The sourness lingered in his nostrils, its memory turning his stomach in disgust.

Cullen pushed them all away except for the one—about her.

l-l-l

 

In the twenty-four hours after the Chantry exploded, Cullen still hadn’t slept. Fatigued and weakened, he’d been among those searching despite the futility. Only the footprint of the Chantry remained buried under smoldering rubble. The sheet volume of granite and marble piled impossibly high and the lack of proper equipment on hand made the prospect of a thorough investigation unworkable.

They’d found nothing. Not even a trace of those reported inside the towering structure before it fell. When he’d rotated out of the search party and returned to the Gallows, his pointless efforts weighed heavy on his body; Cullen had to force his steps to the showers. Already numb, he barely felt the scalding water when he stepped into the stall. It wasn’t until the sting overshadowed his thoughts that he adjusted the knobs and sank against the wall.

He stayed in the shower even after several inquired if he needed help. “No. I’m,” he paused, refusing to say the word fine for the hundredth time, “give me a little while longer. I need to clean up.”

 _Stand up._ The order in his head meant little to a man who tried to comprehend all that had happened. The order fell again and this time Cullen obeyed. _You must be the example. What would Joss say?_

 “She’s dead. She no longer has a voice.” Anger replaced fatigue, and tears mixed with the water flow until Cullen felt sure none would fall in front of others.

He dressed, slinging the towel around his neck. On any other day he would have spent a proper amount of time to emerge fully presentable as his position demanded, but as he walked the corridors toward his office, Cullen realized he didn’t care.

He’d been Knight Commander at the Gallows for several years; the office had served as a second home of sorts, until he’d met Josselyn. It was she who convinced him to see Kirkwall through different eyes and leave his office more often. 

The sole picture frame on his desk renewed his sour stomach. Happier times stood out in stark contrast to his thoughts of despair. The smiles in the image mocked his pain. A tentative reach across his desk had almost touched the sleek black frame, when a soft voice coughed from the doorway. A woman leaned against the doorframe, delicate features and short red hair cut at a severe angle alluded to her being a visitor to Kirkwall. Her clothing far too warm for Kirkwall’s end of summer season, the visitor likely had not counted on such warm weather.

The woman coughed once more and waited for Cullen’s full attention. “You are Knight Commander Cullen Rutherford.”

For a moment Cullen said nothing, her phrasing clear she did not ask for confirmation and merely stated the fact. He couldn’t quite place the accent. She may have been Orlesian or even from the eastern Marches, but most of her origin had melted into controlled speech.

“I am, how may I be of service?” Cullen didn’t bother to stand; her dark business suit and polished appearance suggested she might be a reporter or yet another advocate for the victims of the tragedy. They seemed to multiply like nugs in springtime; each seeking a small piece of what they assumed to be easy coin.

“I carry a message from the Sunburst Throne, Knight Commander.” He’d expected something official eventually. Divine Victoria had challenged the lack of the Order’s findings as a failure under his leadership. Cullen had already penned his resignation. The reason had little to do with progress and everything to do with Josselyn. Her ghost followed him; memories surfaced without consent threatening to drag him into an even deeper misery. Faced with what he assumed meant the forced end to his career; he refused to give in.

The annoyed sigh from his visitor exposed even more. She’d expected someone more agreeable.

Aggravation fueled his response. “Is it customary for emissaries of the Most Holy to simply enter a Templar base without announcing their arrival?” Rising to his feet, he didn’t bother to mask his irritation at the intrusion. The Order answered to the Chantry, but only on matters concerning the Chantry or physical protection of the Divine. Kirkwall didn’t want outside interference. They wanted answers and to lean on one another. “Or perhaps the Most Holy has decided I am to be charged as a criminal for failing to deliver the ones responsible.”

“My, we are quite dramatic this evening,” she said without scorn. “I can assure you Knight Commander; Divine Victoria knows of your efforts.” Stepping further into his office, she held out her hand. “You may call me Leliana, although I believe once I deliver the message, the need for pleasantries and pretty words will fall apart rather quickly.”

“I see.” Keeping his tone even, Cullen didn’t blink when Leliana delivered her message.

“Divine Victoria believes you have suffered a devastating loss and suggests a change of guard; a new focus might be best for the Order and for your peace of mind,” Leliana said without a hint of emotion.  “Once the Order finds another to continue your work, the change in leadership will occur. Until then, Maker comfort you and guide your steps.”

l-l-l

 _Leliana_ , Cullen thought. _That was her name. Sister Leliana—the Left Hand of the Divine._ Cullen sank back against the couch, unsure what he should do. It was not Valerie who ended his career that day.

The question of Valerie refused to leave his thoughts. He still had a fair amount of time until he’d promised to meet her, but the uncertainty presented a problem. “She knew who I was, but that doesn’t mean it was planned. Marion is a little overprotective.” He sighed, and the thought of Marion’s parting words forced him to stand and find where he’d tossed his phone, quickly dialing her phone number.

Unwilling to leave a message, he tried again, and this time Merrill answered. “Hello. I’m to tell you we’re almost there. Are you all right?”

“Yes, Merrill and thank you, but please inform Hawke I’m well and you needn’t bother.”  He hoped his words would suffice, despite the suspicion Hawke wouldn’t care what he said, she’d shifted into protection mode. Cullen had two options: play along and let Marion possibly prevent him from meeting Valerie or get out before she arrived.

In the background he heard Merrill relay his message followed almost immediately with a slew of obscenities and refusals to turn around. Cullen would meet Valerie regardless of Hawke’s opinion. He hastily scribbled a note of apology asking Marion to look after AJ for the day. 

Merrill returned to Cullen; through a few false starts she managed to talk. “Hawke said,” she stopped and the rustling noise through the speaker suggested Merrill had covered the microphone. Another louder rustle announced her return. “We’ll be there in a little over five minutes. I’m sorry.”

“Forgive me, but I’m not waiting. Look after AJ, if you would please.”

“Of course.” Her response was guarded; Cullen thankful Merrill had some understanding, although he apologized again knowing she would have to endure Hawke’s displeasure.

He grabbed his leather jacket on the way out, locking the door behind him. Hawke had a key to his apartment; she’d helped with AJ on many occasions before. _I can’t stay here; it’s better to be early than not arrive at all._

Marion’s home in the Hightown subdivision was just far enough that if Cullen cut a path through the alleyways, he’d evade her entirely.

Slipping on his jacket, he realized how odd his behavior would seem to Hawke and anyone who knew him well. “What exactly are you doing?”

The problem?  Cullen couldn’t explain his behavior. He had never snuck away, even when younger. One thing led him through side streets and alleys taking him closer to the hotel. Valerie waited. She waited for him. 

It was the thought that stopped him; Cullen scanned the street and sidewalks, seeing no one, he resumed a slow path leading him toward the city center. _You still haven’t answered the question. What are your intentions?_

A large truck careened around the corner far too fast, nearly sideswiping the other vehicles parked along the street. If the reckless driving wasn’t enough of a warning, the bright red color of the truck and the license plate reading CHAMPN announced he not been able to avoid Marion after all.  Holding back the sigh, he waited for her.

His phone vibrated. “It might be Valerie,” he said glancing at his watch.  With nearly thirty minutes before they had planned to meet, Cullen’s curiosity urged him to answer the call, but it was the name displayed on the screen that surprised him.

_Dr. I. Naishe_

A mental health consultant for the Order, she often assisted with the enlisted in times of high stress and incapacitation. Cullen found her a bit brash for the work, but her results outweighed his reservations. He was sure she knew of his retirement, making the call even stranger.

“Doctor Naishe? Is there something you needed?” Phone to his ear, Cullen’s attention shifted toward Hawke and Merrill walking toward him. _Hawke did this._ Rather than inconvenience the good doctor, Cullen didn’t wait for her to answer.  “I regret you were pulled into this; I am quite well.” He was near certain he heard a huff through the speaker.

“Then let’s just call this a personal call,” she started, “And please, call me Isabela. We no longer work together and you are not a patient; even though a certain someone cashed in a favor owed, there’s nothing I can really do except ask—how are you?”

If any doubt to Hawke’s involvement remained, Doctor Naishe had dispelled all doubt. As Marion neared, Cullen’s narrowed eyes and creased forehead had the desired result. Marion raised her hands in surrender. He still considered the question and answered without hesitation. “You know, I am far better than I thought possible. I’d go so far as to say that for the first time, I am content and eager to face whatever the day brings.”

“It’s good to hear, Cullen.  I’ll leave you to it. Take care.”

“Thank you, Isabela. And thank you for the call.” He managed to swipe the screen to disconnect while keeping a close watch on Marion.  He waited until she stopped a few feet away. “You called the Order’s headshrinker on me, Marion. That’s a new low.  Luckily, she had the presence of mind to steer clear of my personal life.”

Marion shrugged.  “I’m worried. This whole thing is not you.”

She had a point. If he really stopped for one moment and considered the events of the past week, he had to concede it was odd, but what did it matter, he was happy. Shouldn't that be enough? Why was Hawke working so hard against him?

“Marion, you prodded me for months to stop hiding and now that I have—you’re worried?”  Even when she tried to respond, Cullen cut her off.  “I appreciate you’re trying to help, but don’t. For once I can say  this is what _I_ want,” he tapped his chest. “Don’t take this from me, Marion.”

She stepped closer reaching out to him. “Listen to what you’re saying. You just met this woman. Cullen, you’re still hurting, you need time.”

He held out his arms taking steps away from them. “You’re right. We just met.  But I know she’s waiting. And you know what?” His voice grew louder as the distance increased.  “With her, I’m happy.”  He raised his hand to wave before taking off toward the city center.


	4. The Very Thought of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Val share private moments together, but the past returns darkening Cullen's memory.

Valerie clutched the pillow in her lap, her face buried in the grey and blue patterned cloth.  They’d been laughing about his foiled getaway. Cullen had explained how he’d hopped a fence and nearly missed two trash bins, when Valerie had shoved her face into the pillow “Val? Are you all right?”

Her face free of its impromptu mask, she nodded.  “I’m fine,” she managed to reply amid her continuing laughter. “I’m trying to picture you leaping over trash bins without laughing like a mad woman.” She shook her head several times; he guessed a move to compose herself.

“Not a pretty picture, I can assure you.”  He smiled despite feeling the heat of his blush rising on his neck. “In my defense, dangerous trash bins were never addressed in my training.”

“"Free roaming bins are a menace which can't be taken lightly, Cullen."  Her expression softened. “To lose you to such a fiend is unthinkable,” she said with a wink.

Color flooded his cheeks, and he tried to cough away the embarrassment.  “Yes, well,” he paused, “I seem to have arrived none the worse.” Despite his nerves, he met her eyes with his.  “I promise to be careful.”

Before Valerie could reply, the phone rang. A tightened fist pounded against her leg, followed by a burst of exasperation.  “What now?”

He stood; unsure if he should remain or step outside the room. The adjoining sitting area would afford Valerie some privacy and it was only then he realized they’d sat talking in the bedroom for hours. _You really need to work on cues, you fool_. His silent chastisement was forgotten as he asked Valerie if he should leave.

She pointed to the sitting room, shaking her head as she picked up the receiver and answered. “Trevelyan.”

Even with his back to her, Valerie’s irritation grew more evident as the call continued. “How many times must we go through this?”

The caller apparently unaware or uncaring of Valerie’s discomfort must have pushed back, as a near growl from her surprised him. _I should leave_ , he thought, _this is clearly a delicate matter._ He hoped to leave the room with minimal interruption, but Valerie’s firm grip on his elbow and a whisper to stay was enough to remain.

Cullen could hear a raised voice spilling a stream of unintelligible sounds. He regarded her for a moment, keeping his voice at a whisper. “Are you still on your call?”

“Yes, but,” she dismissed it with a wave, “she’ll continue her tirade for at least a handful or two of minutes before realizing I’m no longer listening. It’s nothing new.”

“But who?” He chose not to ask additional question.   _It’s none of my concern_

She crossed the room to a small refrigerator and crouched before opening it. “Water?” Nodding absently, he managed to catch the bottle as she tossed it. “Good catch.” Valerie grabbed her pocketbook and checked the contents before meeting Cullen’s curiosity. “It’s Cassandra—Divine Victoria. She’s none too pleased I plan to move forward with my retirement.”

 _Hawke was right._ He opened his mouth to speak and found nothing appropriate. His brows knit together at the thought of leaving the Divine carrying on without knowing her words went unheeded. On one hand, he admired Valerie’s tenacity; not many would defy the Chantry’s leader. On the other hand, despite all his personal troubles stemming from the Divine’s strong opinions of his failures, Cullen’s sense of duty rose unbidden.  “Shouldn’t you at least-”

Valerie cut him off. “No, I shouldn’t. I don’t know how else to make this clear. I’m done. I agreed to interview candidates for my replacement, but how hard is it to understand?” She turned and leaned on the desk top. “It’s simple. You check your heart and soul at the door and prepare yourself to jump in front of her if anyone tries to get too close. Then of course there are the fun times, where you wield a proverbial sword and take out the opposition without drawing blood.” She faced him, eyes imploring him to understand.  “Don’t you see, I can’t be a part of that any more.  I won’t.”

Her darkening expression urged him to act. “I understand.” For a moment Cullen thought he’d angered her in the way she glared, but the tension that had held her subsided. 

“You do understand, don’t you?”  Valerie didn’t give Cullen a chance to respond. She turned on her heel and in a determined march returned to the bedroom and the phone, picking up the receiver to address the caller. “I haven’t listened to a word you’ve said,” she explained, “in fact, I left the room.” Her shoulders caved.  “Yes, it was incredibly rude and I sincerely apologize.”

 _I should give her a sign of support_ , he thought, and quiet steps brought him within reach. Cullen rested his hand on Valerie’s shoulder.  She returned the gesture before continuing her conversation.

“I’m afraid not,” she said. “My decision stands.  With respect, my wishes are being ignored in favor of your stubbornness.”

Cullen winced, closing his eyes.  The idea Valerie could speak to the Most Holy so directly somehow disturbed him and at the same time reminded him of the truth.  _It’s an office; the Divine is still someone with a title, not truly the hand of the Maker._ Knowing he intruded, Cullen said nothing to interrupt, but with a light touch excused himself.

The sitting room was modest, even by Kirkwall’s standards. The hotel had once sat where large manors and the wealthiest lived. Once known as Hightown, downtown Kirkwall had shrugged aside its compartmentalized view of living into a wide and diverse design. Marion thought the hotel décor a bit tacky, in her words, but then again, Marion’s preferences for dark velvet and gloomy mood lighting left no room for judgements.

He understood Marion’s motivations; she’d lost friends that day. Survivors banded together to form a protective barrier for one another and with Marion, she shouldered even more of his than was her share. Even through the memorial observance the past week, Cullen saw a pleasant change in the public. Compassion, he remembered, _the byproduct of banding together under a common loss to aid in the healing process._

Drawing the curtain aside, he looked out onto the street below.  The sound of sirens moved traffic aside, followed by loud bursts of a car horn and shouting. _So much for banding together_ , he thought with a shrug.

A sudden closeness accentuation by the light touch of arms wrapping around his chest, culminated in Valerie resting her head against his back. “Sorry about that, so much for the mystique, right?”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“Ah,” she said, turning him around. “Rather dismal powers of observations, if you must know.” Valerie slipped away, the loss of her next to him drawing him to follow. “Pity really, I mean here you are in my hotel room and not so much as a kiss? What am I going to do with you Cullen?”

It had been a tease, but the sudden bloom of color to her cheeks made him laugh. “I can answer that question one of two ways. First, the appropriate answer is I shall endeavor to work on it, my lady,” he said with a bow and flourish. 

“And the second?”

He leaned his shoulder against the door frame with his arms crossed. “Well, the second answer is slightly less appropriate and requires not only your approval but seeing as this is—indeed—your room, I believe an invitation might yield a mutually beneficial agreement.”

Deliberate and coy, she approached him. “An invitation?”

“You have only to ask.”

She beckoned him to follow with a single finger. "I believe your presence is required in the bedroom."

l-l-l

Clad in his formal uniform, Cullen stood watch at the steps leading to the transept.  The Grand Cleric held a meeting of several Kirkwall officials behind him. He couldn’t remember how he’d ended up at the Chantry but understood the concern; despite the general assertion the rumors of dissention were nothing more than the rumblings of a disgruntled few, shift rotations added more Templar guards.

The lights cut without warning, prompting several strangled cries from various corners. A quick grab of the radio on his belt yielded no response. Most would have ignored the odd circumstances, but Cullen couldn’t. Eyes adjusting to the dark, he directed those behind him to exit immediately and ordered Josselyn to escort the party to safety. Even when the Grand Cleric protested, Cullen persisted. “Leave now, that’s an order Lieutenant.”

The small group hurried away amid quieted curses as they stumbled toward the exit. Cullen tuned the radio to every Templar frequency meeting with static. “Wonderful. Not only am I stumbling blind, but I’ve been cut off. I’ve no choice.” He slid his phone from his pants pocket, swiping the display, eyes narrowing at the red warning circle indicating the lack of signal. “Clear the room and get out,” he said aloud, his words amplified to a near echo. His simple order called for any remaining guests to leave the building immediately, but in his head, Cullen ran through his training. _Power is out, communications too—someone is making a move. If the goal is to remain hidden, no one will answer._

A sharp call cut through the expectant quiet, he knew Josselyn’s voice before she finished her question. “Commander, where are you?”  

“I gave you an order, Lieutenant,” he said, a slight edge of frustration creeping into his tone. No matter what the situation, when they were on duty, his personal feelings for her were set aside. “See to the Grand Cleric.”

“I see you,” she countered. “On my way.”

“I said go!” This time he couldn’t deny the concern he’d allowed to invade his restraint. “Apologies. See to your duty, I’ll join you in a moment.”

She huffed in such a way, he had to bit back the smile threatening to break free. _I’ll get an earful later, no doubt._

Even the air inside the Chantry smelled wrong; its usual pungent scents of incense and offerings covered by a lingering sourness in his nostrils. The acrid smell disturbed him, causing his nose to itch. _What is that smell?_   His hand reached for his sidearm, the cold metal of the gun’s grip shocking his skin and heightening his awareness. Weapon drawn, he crept in slow measure steps, sweeping left and right; his eyes had adjusted to the lack of light, accentuating a faint red glow toward the far wall. _There_ , he thought, ignoring the growing discomfort and thickening unnatural and decidedly chemical odor. 

“I shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, taking in the darkened space. Elongated walls reached high above, but the lack of natural light and the power failure added to his unease.  A resonate rumble caught Cullen’s attention. “A storm on top of it? Maybe it’s the cause of the power outage?”

A second rumble immediately followed, and this time it rattled the floor and walls of the Chantry. “That wasn’t thunder.” Through the quiet a slow steady electronic beep sounded from the direction of the red glow, the intervals slow at first, began to accelerate. He cursed and turned on his heel, sprinting toward the exit and his only hope of survival. This was no storm. The Chantry was under attack.

“Quickly!” Cullen shouted instructions to any within the sound of his voice. “We must—”

The fourth tremor poured forth in flame and heat, a wall of fire breaking through the masonry, toppling stone and consuming anything in its path. He shifted toward the wall of sound, a roar of strength and destructive power. “Maker take me,” he said before the flames consumed him.

Heat permeated his bones; the fire spread from his chest to his limbs, flames devouring his face. He meant to scream for help, but the words died emerging as a strangled groan. So resigned to the excruciating pain, no final prayers crossed his thoughts.  

Somewhere in the distance a voice called out to him, pleading and frantic.  Unable to move with limbs paralyzed and pressed into a panic, he tried shouting for help. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, the words slurred and almost incomprehensible. A woman spoke his name again, softer this time urging him to open his eyes. _Valerie_ , he thought, as the searing heat and agonizing pain subsided revealing he lay prone in a bed. It wasn’t real, at least not for him. _A nightmare, nothing more_.  Despite the haze, Val's voice reinforced his existence outside of his nightmare.

“Oh Cullen, thank the Maker,” she said, caressing his cheek and smoothing his sweat slicked hair.  There was such concern directed at him, Cullen felt compelled to apologize for ruining their afternoon.

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to worry you,” he said, turning to face her. “Night terrors. I’ve had them ever since,” he stopped, swallowing hard in an attempt to bite back emotion, “since that day. I’m afraid they sound and appear far worse than they are.”

She slid closer, resting her head on his chest. “You’re safe now. You’re safe with me.”

l-l-l

It had taken Valerie only a few hours to convince Cullen to leave the hotel, insistent on seeing the famed Kirkwall sunset from the evening boat tour.

“It’s for tourists,” Cullen said with a mild complaint. In truth, it didn’t matter. Valerie would have to leave Kirkwall eventually and he welcomed any time with her.

“So, I’m a tourist and for one night, so are you.” She tugged his hand and arm toward the dock and added a pout as they neared the empty ticket line.

He laughed. “Now that is simply unfair.”

“If it works, then well worth the effort,” she said before asking the attendant for two tickets. Without looking up from his book, he shook his head.

“Sorry, we’re closing up for the night, been a slow one,” he said shutting his book and meeting Valerie’s disappointment. “There’s always tomorrow,” he said with a smile holding up his book. “I’ve got to study for my entrance exams.”

Valerie met his rejection with a smile. “Just one pass around the harbor? I’m leaving for Ostwick.”

The attendant nearly refused again, until the young man’s eyes widened at Cullen’s appearance.

“Commander, Ser. I. . .I didn’t. . .I’ll be right back!” He ran toward the boat, Valerie and Cullen exchanging a glance.

“I wonder what that was about,” Valerie said with a shrug.

Further down the dock, the young man waved his arms arguing with another hidden from Cullen’s view. The conversation grew even more animated; wild gestures and pointed stabs toward their position suggested a heated argument. It took only a few moments more before another disembarked from the boat and headed in their direction.  

“The father,” Cullen guessed.

Far shorter and rounder than the young man, his red face and sweat beaded brow suggested a hard day’s toil and Cullen apologized for disturbing him.

“Never you mind. My boy told me it was you Ser, didn’t mean to make you wait.” The older of the two men held out his hand to Cullen. Bits of recognition in Cullen’s memory were quickly dismissed. He looked like many who work at the docks, blue captain’s hat, coveralls and grease streaked face and hands.

There was something familiar about the two men, Cullen accepting the offered greeting with a firm grip. “We didn’t mean to cause a fuss.”

An few enthusiastic shakes later, the man removed his hat, revealing a thinned mass of red curls mixed with grey. “No Ser, my boy was right. If Commander Cullen wants a sunset cruise with his lady friend, he’ll have it. You’ve done right by all my boys. You’ll have this one if he ever passes his exams.”

All the pieces fit in Cullen’s head; red hair, seafaring family. He’d trained two brothers of the Sommers household when he was still a Captain.  _This must be the youngest of the Sommers boys, his older brothers transferred out of Kirkwall years ago._ Cullen turned his attention on the young man. “Quite a legacy to live up to; Arthur and Arden have excelled in the Order.” To the older man, Cullen bowed out of respect.  “Your sons honor their father, Captain Sommers.”

The man’s face lit with such pride, he stood a little taller, thanking Cullen for his kind words.  “I should be thanking you, Commander.”

“Please call me Cullen, there’s no need for formality.”

Captain Sommers stared wide eyed. “I’m Edmund and that’s my youngest Andy,” he winced, “you knew that already.”

With a firm clasp on Edmund’s shoulder, Cullen assured him all was well. “This is Valerie, she’s visiting Kirkwall, and we couldn’t pass up a chance to see the sunset.”

“Of course! Come, come! We should set out before we miss the best of it.” He ushered the two down the gangplank and along the dock, even wiping his hand on his coverall before offering his hand to Valerie. 

The boat itself was well cared for; cushioned benches on the main deck allowed passengers to face in whichever direction they preferred, but Edmund insisted the two consider the upper deck. Cullen followed a few steps behind as Edmund led them toward a small set of stairs before leaving the two promising an unforgettable view.

The upper deck sat uncovered, offering passengers a full view of sea and sky. Cullen led Valerie to a collection of small white bistro tables, each flanked with two matching metal chairs. He pulled a chair for her and waited.

Valerie’s eyes followed him as he sat across from her. “Are all Fereldans as polite as you?”

It was a tease. Valerie wasn’t used to someone putting her first; in her world everything revolved around the Divine. She’d insisted politeness was innate for all Fereldans. “All Fereldans? I can’t say with any certainty.”  He chuckled. “I can endeavor to be less than polite if you like.”

“Somehow I doubt that, Cullen.”

He held out his hand to her, and she took it immediately giving it a squeeze. “Come sit next to me and give me the full tour.”

“The full tour?” He released her hand and pulled a chair next to her; Valerie settled against him with a sigh. _She leaves tomorrow_ , he thought, ignoring his disappointment at her departure. _If there was a way, I’d take it._

“Cullen,” she began, “I have to leave tomorrow, and before you say anything, I have to, but if there was a way?” she exhaled in a heavier sigh.

“I know.” He shifted to face her. _Stay with me_ , he thought. _Say it. No matter how crazy you sound. Tell her. Tell her you’ll follow her anywhere._ For a moment, even his logical mind shook him. _This is your chance._

She covered his lips with her fingers. “I love you, you know that—right?”

He remembered hearing the words, their bodies entwined; she’d kissed him before he could answer. This time, her eyes held his and she waited for his answer. _It’s too soon, no matter how true._ A silent war raged between his head and his heart; one urging him to think carefully and the other seeking its match. _You fool! I love you, too. Say it!_

His right hand reached behind his neck, confusion reigniting an old nervous tick and he stumbled over his response. “I…I uh…you do?”


	5. Never Again The Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment passed. It's too late to relive it. Can Cullen explain what holds him back?

The half-answer Cullen had given carried his uncertainty. “These days have given me a second chance. I love you, there is no doubt behind those words, but I am at a loss.”

“I don’t understand.”

He reached for her hand and kissed her fingers. “We met a handful of days ago, but time with you feels as natural as though it was always meant to be.”

Valerie shrugged free, disappointment carried in her downcast eyes for a moment, but she shifted out of her chair to her knee in front of him. “Maybe you’re unsure or even concerned. Well, I am too. I don’t understand it at all.” She inched closer to him.  “I’ve done some ridiculous things; I’ve made absolutely illogical choices and regretted them instantly, but I’ve never been more certain. We can slow down and take a step back, if it would be more comfortable.”

“Val, it’s not that.”

She shook her head grabbing his hands tight. “All I know right now is that this—you and me—is all that matters. Not the Divine, not Kirkwall,” her eyes teared, “not even this bloody perfect sunset that we are missing because I’m terrified you’re going to walk away.”  She loosened her grip and slipped from him; the loss of her nearness pulled him to his feet.

“Why would you think—”

She stood with her hands balled into fists, but Valerie’s rigid stance and the slight quiver to her lips made his heart ache. Before Cullen finished his thought, she continued. “This short time we’ve been together made me realize what I wanted.  I love you; I have meant it every time I’ve said so, no matter how crazy it may sound.” She closed her eyes, exhaling. “I’ll understand if you don't feel the same.”

“No! I do, far more than I should admit, but I—” He had to say something, but Cullen asked for a moment. _How do I explain what I’ve avoided since the explosion?_ He blinked several times, wondering if he could find the proper words.

“What’s wrong?”

He’d carried the blame; he’d borne it as a burden for failing the people of Kirkwall. _If I don’t say it now, I may never._ “It’s my fault you’re here. I could have prevented everything, but it was my decision to ignore reports. Your affections mean more than I can express, but I deserve nothing.”

Her eyes widened, Valerie moved closer, her hand resting on his chest. She shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. “You can’t mean that, it simply isn’t true.” The boat’s engine grew louder and slower as they pulled into the dock. “And I’ll prove it to you. We need to get back to my room.”

He tried to protest unsuccessfully. Valerie ignored him, leading Cullen toward the gangway, while father and son secured their boat to the docks.  A few kind words and promises to return saw them off the ship and out into the evening.

She said nothing, but her grip on his hand seemed almost desperate; her urgency carried them through the streets. He realized she led him through the shortcuts and alleyways he had taken to reach the docks before sunset. She’d remarked not knowing such cut through paths existed, but now she wove through Kirkwall with determination of a lifetime citizen. He frowned and broke their silence. “I thought you didn’t know these paths. Suddenly, you’re an expert?”

Recognizing his rude remarks, he apologized. Valerie didn’t bother to stop, clutching his hand and giving it a tug. “I’m a soldier Cullen. Don’t let the suits and pleasantries fool you. I know every exit when I enter a room, I sweep every street that we cross and note those within striking distance of us. Surely you do the same.”

“Forgive me,” he said, guilt flowing freely through him. “I should have realized; I meant no disrespect. Valerie, can’t you see?” He stopped, shrugging free of her hand. “You deserve someone far better.”

And then Valerie did something he wasn’t prepared for—she smiled. “You bear the mark of one whose faith allowed the biggest politician of them all to plant a fucking garden of doubt in your head. Took me a few years to figure it out myself.” She grabbed his hand again. “You know what? I’m not going to let her win. Do you trust me, even a little?”

“I trust you, but I’m afraid I don’t—”

She pulled his arm and turned toward the city center and the hotel. Even through his confusion he noted how Valerie greeted those she passed, and practically dragged him toward the elevator. When the doors closed, she let his hand go. “What if I could prove you did nothing wrong?” He stared at her as the elevator doors closed.

It made little sense; he’d found nothing. No evidence, no trail, not a single shred of evidence remained. The fire had consumed every possible trace of who might have committed the act. He couldn’t accept he’d missed something crucial. “It isn’t possible.” His pride spoke of careful examinations and sifting through debris without success. 

It was her knowing smile that unnerved him more than anything. When the elevator opened and she led him toward her room, he wondered what Valerie possessed and why she would carry it with her. Even in his uncertainty, she reassured him with gentle touches and a soft voice. “The Chantry knew of the danger; they even had a name but dismissed it as unsubstantiated conjecture.”

Cullen froze. His heart ached at the thought of what might have been avoidable. “All those people-gone.”

Valerie nodded, continuing into the room. She turned and waited for him to join her. “I’ll show you what I have. When I read this, it changed so much. I knew I couldn’t continue serving the Chantry.”

Hesitant, he frowned. His steps were deliberate, and eyes locked on her. “Why?”

She disappeared through the sitting room and returned with a large packet within seconds. Her brow creased. “See for yourself.” She held out the envelope and urged him to take it. He accepted the packet and Valerie explained. “I kept something from you. Not a lie, but a convenient omission.”

A twinge in his chest caused Cullen’s breath to catch. “Why. . .I. . .forgive me,” he said closing his eyes at the thought Valerie had held the truth from him.

“No, please. It’s not what you think. Look at the packet,” she pleaded.

The envelope appeared to be standard issue; he’d received many similar over the years. Most of the time they contained long reports and data for his review only, sent by the Chantry or agents of the Order. Affixed to the front were two labels. The first in the upper left corner was handwritten. An address in the Marches indicated the sender lived in Ostwick; a coastal town not terribly far from Kirkwall by boat or vehicle.

The second label made his eyes widen and disbelief caused shifted his scrutinous gaze between it and Valerie more than a few times. His home address leapt off the page; written in careful block letters the sender wanted no mistakes and intended he would receive it.

“I planned to mail it when I arrived. I couldn’t risk anyone intercepting it through standard channels.” Valerie eyes searched his face, but Cullen said nothing. “And then you found me. I know I should have handed it to you, and Maker knows I had so many opportunities,” she moved closer to him. “I guess I got so caught up in my happiness, my plan fell apart.”

He nodded absently. _Do I read it? Do I want to know?_ He turned from her, gripping the truth in his hands. “Why now?” He wasn’t challenging her. _What if it_ , he sighed with the weight of his thoughts, _changes things between us?_

“You’re punishing yourself for what happened. You won’t be free of that guilt until you know.” Val started to speak and then stopped; shaking her head she headed for the door. “I’ll let you read in peace and then-”

“Stay,” he said softly.

l-l-l

Several hours passed before Cullen gathered the papers and stuffed them into the envelope. Neither spoke, but Valerie joined him on the settee and handed him a glass. “It’s ice water.”

Accepting the glass, he tipped it to his lips drinking half. Cullen stopped, holding it with both hands, staring at the ice cubes as they shifted. “I met him,” he said. “This. . .Anders. He was angry, that much was clear the few times I encountered him, but,” Cullen shook his head. “How certain are you?”

“You _knew_ him?” The edge of incredulity and disbelief to her question was expected.

Cullen leaned back against the settee, and Valerie copied him. He couldn’t read her expression. “Not really well; he was a friend of Marion’s for a time, but when she settled down with Merrill,” he paused, aware he shared more than intended. “I’m not sure I can believe this. Anders was a physician. He left Kirkwall General to open a clinic for those who couldn’t afford care. He had a habit of taking in stray cats, so much so Marion had to put her foot down every time he appeared with more needing homes.” Cullen gestured toward the envelope. “Those papers claim he was a part of radical group who stood against the Order and the Chantry. I can’t reconcile your research with what I knew. ”

“It’s not my research.” Valerie scooted away and stood. “Leliana. Her people investigated. You met her when. . .”

He nodded. Cullen needed no help remembering that day nor the deliverer of the Chantry’s decision to offer him up as a scapegoat. “Faced with the Divine’s request, I resigned.”

“The findings are hers. When was the last time you saw Anders?”

He tried to remember, but it was well before Marian and Merrill wed. Anders had been jealous of their relationship. At the time, all Marian has said proved far too cryptic and Cullen had dismissed it.

l-l-l

_Marian sat across from Cullen in his office, her hands folded in her lap._

_“This is odd,” he said with a smile. “Even for you.”_

_Her head slumped forward, and she sighed. “I need you to be my friend, and not a Templar right now.”_

_He frowned. “You can’t come into my office and ask me—”_

_Marian pushed from her chair and slammed her hands on his desk. “Dammit Cullen!”_

_A knock on the closed office door interrupted them. Cullen held up his finger to his lips before answering. “What!”_

_A muffled voice answered him. “Everything all right, Ser?”_

_Nodding slowly and silently assuring her, Cullen replied in a loud voice, carrying his station and command. “Yes, carry on.”_

_Marion slumped onto the chair and buried her face in her hands. He’d never seen Hawke so distraught. He rose from his chair and joined her, crouching. “All right. Tell me what’s upset you, and I’ll do my best.”_

_She looked at him, closed her eyes and nodded. “I’m worried about Merrill. Anders left the city after we argued. He said I betrayed him, but Cullen,” her eyes pleaded with him, “we haven’t been together in two years! I don’t know who he is anymore. He was different, angry.” She closed her eyes and shook her head, as if dismissing a thought, and then resumed. “He was. . .almost a different person, if that makes any sense. When he spoke, there was a unmistakable rage to his demeanor and it. . .I can’t lose her, Cullen.” She held back her emotions, struggling to keep her voice even. The occasional quiver revealed a fear he not witnessed from Marion ever._

_“Where is he now?”_

_“I don’t know. He stormed off. Merrill covered someone’s shift in the ward, she’s still on duty for a few more hours.”_

_He stood and gave Marion’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I can send someone to the clinic and check.”_

_She rubbed her face with her hands, fatigue and worry refusing to diminish under her touch. She sighed so long and deep her shoulders caved inward. “The clinic’s been closed for a week, maybe more. Merrill said some of his staff had inquired about open positions.” She looked up into Cullen’s face. “How does someone who cared so much about people suddenly turn so angry?”_

_Cullen wouldn’t consider dissecting a man’s life to soothe her concerns. “I don’t know. I’d rather make sure you and Merrill are safe.” He had to consider the possibility of jealousy. Marion had ended her relationship with Anders and had married a month prior, but this confrontation concerned him. “Can you get away? I can see if Mia has rooms, if you’d consider a trip.”_

_His sister’s bed and breakfast in the southern hills of Ferelden might be a much needed retreat._

_“Your sister doesn’t like me very much; are you sure?”_

_His smile was genuine. “My sister thought we were involved, I doubt she’ll ever like anyone who stands within a foot of me and claims friendship.”_

_Marion finally laughed her burden lighter as she composed herself. “Is that right?”_

_He grumbled and hushed her, picking up the phone._

l-l-l

“The rest of the story isn’t important,” Cullen said. “We never found Anders. I saw a report about two months before the explosion that he’d been sighted in Hercinia, but I couldn’t confirm it was actually him.”  He leaned forward, closed his eyes and rubbed him temple with two fingers. “How certain are we it was him or this group?”

Valerie rested her hand on his back.  “Leliana is rarely wrong. It pisses me off on most occasions.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “She managed the same with me in a very short period of time, so I can believe it.”

“Cullen,” Valerie began, “you mentioned reports you ignored, what happened?”

Cullen explained a series of phone calls made to Templar headquarters. “I never took one of the calls, but apparently, the voice was masked somehow. Half dozen calls were received by the main number, but the caller asked for me specifically. This was odd for two reasons.”

“Oh?”

Cullen shifted to face her. “It’s a rare thing for a call to go through the switchboard. Usually, it’s a lost tourist or a wrong number. I’ve never hid behind an assistant, and take every call that comes in.”

For a moment, the serious expression she wore melted into mirth and warmth. “You did, didn’t you?” She shook her head. “No wonder these people respect you, you gave them nothing less than all of you.”

He shrugged. “I wanted to be accessible; not hide behind a desk and closed doors.”

 “I interrupted you,” Valerie said, leading him back to the conversation “The calls came in to the main number, but what was the second reason?”

Cullen explained the message itself made little sense. “The individual insisted I stay away from the Chantry, just me. No one else.”

Valerie leaned back and tented her fingers.  “It’s damned odd.”

“Precisely—why only me?” The strange messages had troubled him then. _If I had only acted, maybe I could have prevented the loss of life._ The compulsion to explain his actions and in some way atone for his mistakes continued the discussion.  “I spoke with the Grand Cleric and the Guard Captain, but both dismissed the calls as a prank made in poor taste.” He sighed. “A week later, everything erupted in fire.” He’d questioned himself ever since. The weight of his decisions had never fully let him consider how his inaction had impacted others.  “How you can reconcile my actions, and still affirm that. . .that you—” Frustration and guilt pushed him to his feet. “I should go.”

When Valerie tried to follow, he stopped her. Giving her arms a gentle caress, Cullen kissed her forehead, his lips lingered until he forced himself to step away.  It was the way she stared at him the threatened his resolve; her eyes held such certainty and determination. “No. I can’t let this end here. You’ve already sacrificed your career at the altar of the Chantry’s ignorance.” She reached for him. “You think you’re free? Cullen, don’t you realize you’re still locked in a cage? I came here to help you; at least let me try.”


	6. I Can't Believe I'm Losing You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valerie shares what she knows about the lead up to the Chantry bombing in Kirkwall.

It took more than a little effort to convince Cullen to return; she’d promised to accompany him to his apartment and remain until the morning under condition that he sleep. In return, Valerie would tell him everything she witnessed and how she chose Kirkwall as her destination.

Convincing Hawke to leave took a little more finesse. Cullen had tried reassurances, half-hearted promises and finally settled on a few annoyed sighs to usher Marion out the door, but Valerie stepped in instead, and he left the two alone.

“Am I right in thinking you don’t like me very much?” Valerie kept her tone light, but no less clipped and guarded, not quite sure what to make of the feisty and overprotective Marion Hawke.

“You get right to the point, don’t you?” Marion crossed her arms. “No. I guess I don’t.”

Copying the gesture, Valerie straightened her posture, legs slightly apart, giving her a more commanding position. “Why?”

Marion coughed a laugh and looked around, shaking her head. She wagged her finger and Valerie and started to turn away. A second later, her brows knit, and she took a step closer. “You really want to know? Fine. You Chantry types have messed with his head way too many times, and I’ve had enough,” she said, cutting through the air with her hand. “I don’t know what your game is this time but fuck the fuck off and leave Cullen alone.” 

Valerie didn’t move, but with complete sincerity she answered. “I can’t. I’m in love with him.”

“Well, shit.” Hawke stared. A tight knot had formed between her brows and her eyes widened blinking several times until she spoke again. “I… well… fuck.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “All right fine. I’ll go, but if you hurt him—even a little? Right Hand or not, you and I will have a go. Got it?”

Rather than meet Hawke’s protective anger, Valerie nodded in agreement. “You’re a good friend.”

Valerie hadn’t intended to disarm Hawke, but her blank expression and wide eyes suggested the very same. Hawke pointed toward the couch where the mabari slept. “I could take him with me.”

It was an odd comment, and Valerie guessed Hawke was stalling, but declined without any other explanation. “It’s late.” _Maybe she’ll take the hint_ , Valerie thought. _I promised Cullen the story._

“Oh right. I should. . .good night.” Hawke left the apartment, quietly closing the door behind her.  

Giving AJ a few friendly pats and scratches, she turned off the lights and walked down the hall, considering her options. _If you do this, and tell him everything, you can’t return_. She exhaled pushing the uncertainty from her thoughts. “I’m done,” she muttered under her breath. “I’m not going back.”

Valerie paused at the closed bedroom door, lifted her hand to knock and then stopped. _He might be asleep_ , she considered, _but then again Hawke was rather loud, I doubt anyone could sleep through her arguing._

A light hand on the doorknob turned it with ease, using slow moves to keep quiet, she pushed it open. Cullen wasn’t asleep; he stood in the bedroom, staring out the window.  Open curtains allowed the glow from the streetlamps and twin moons through the window, filling the room in a soft grey light.

“I apologize; I should have talked with Marion. She meant well, I’m sure,” he said with a sigh, keeping his back to her.

There was something so vulnerable about him drawing her closer. He was a Templar, a sworn guardian of the city and its people. Yet, Marion Hawke’s fierce loyalty and even more powerful drive to protect him as if he was fragile contradicted all she knew of Cullen.    _There must be more to the story, but I can’t quite figure it out._  Slipping her arm around his waist, Cullen’s warm hand covered hers. _Then again, you stopped thinking clearly as soon as you met him, so there’s that._

“She’s not wrong.  The Chantry,” she exhaled halting her speech. Knowing that revealing all might separate them threatened to silence her. _No, he deserves to know._

His fingers interlaced with hers. “You owe me nothing,” he said turning to face her. “Being here with you is all I need.” 

Despite the elation within her, she frowned. “I need to share what I know.” Slipping away from him, Valerie hugged herself. “There were pieces I didn’t have, things I didn’t know until we spoke earlier. Now it makes sense, and I’m afraid if my conclusions are correct?” Wide eyes searched his before she finished, the knot between his brows nearly stopping her. “You may not feel the same about me—about us.”

She could see the struggle on his face; the polite smile hiding his critical thoughts.  “I doubt that,” he said.

Talking in the bedroom was a mistake, what would be said needed a clear head and no inference of intimacy. Valerie held out her hand toward him. “I hope you’re right.”

 

l-l-l

The large mirror steamed during her shower, obscuring her reflection. Val fought the urge to wipe the condensation with her hand. The day’s training session passed without incident, the newer recruits in this batch at least could handle themselves in hand to hand combat. “It’s not like we’re under siege or facing a revolt. It’s just preparedness training.”  Val rubbed her wet hair with a towel, before donning a sleeveless tee and cropped pants. She’d need to get to her office to change into more appropriate clothing.

Sitting on the bench, she mentally ticked off her task list. With several hours until the usual afternoon briefing, Val hoped to sift through more applications and the Chantry deployment schedules sent by the various Templar installations. A loud, rapid knock on the locker room door and a masculine voice interrupted her lacing her shoes.

“Ma’am?”

Valerie rolled her eyes; she’d threatened the last messenger that if one more of them called her Lady Seeker, she’d be none too pleased. The solution to avoiding her aggravation had each of them calling her _ma’am_.  “What is it?”

“Sister Leliana must see you. You’re to meet her in your office immediately. It’s urgent.”

“Isn’t it always?” She respected Leliana, but when everything from overheard secrets to the lack of her favorite dessert at the commissary proved catastrophic, Valerie had learned to temper her reactions to Leliana’s urgent requests.

“Uh, ma’am?” There was no mistaking the confusion in the messenger’s tone of voice.

“I’ll be right there, thank you.” She tossed her wet towels into the laundry bin near the exit and headed out into the hall. Her office sat off the grand gallery, placing it nearest the receiving halls and affording the opportunity to circumvent the curious from entering the private wing of residences.

As Divine Victoria’s Right Hand, she managed the safety of not only the Most Holy, but all those who resided within the Grand Cathedral of the Sunburst Throne. Even in her dressed down state, those who congregated in the halls parted as Valerie approached. A few even sought to challenge her attire until recognizing the offending party as the one person who could terminate the invitation to remain within the walls.

Most simply nodded before averting their eyes, others offered clipped greetings choosing to forego open ended conversation starters in favor of allowing her to pass. At midday, the halls bustled with those still clamoring to bend the ear of the Most Holy. The hint of a smirk lifted the corner of her mouth at the growing number of bodies milling around.  _Given the numbers still waiting, I’d wager_ s _he’s in a foul mood; I’d bet not a one will stand in the presence of Her Crankiness today._

Valerie stifled the laugh building in her chest. Whatever troubled Victoria would no doubt become her problem later. She crossed in front of the main staircase, giving little notice to the opulence surrounding her. Quick strides carried her through the left side entryway and down a flight of stairs to her office.

As expected, the door stood ajar. What struck Valerie as odd was the less than cordial voice of her counterpart inside. Leliana stood with her back to the door, another anomaly. _Leliana never lets her guard down._ Something wasn’t quite right. Her voice had lost the pleasant Orlesian lilt, aggravation and curt sentences gave way to even louder impatient warnings. Valerie hesitated. She knew better than to interrupt; coiled tighter than a viper trapped in its lair, Leliana had the potential to lash out at any who strayed too close.

“I don’t care if the Knight Vigilant is on his way to meet the Maker himself—find him!” She slammed the phone into its cradle. Upon seeing Valerie, Leliana apologized. “It couldn’t wait. It seems no one in the Order is on duty today.”

“I wasn’t aware we were concerning ourselves with their daily operations.” Valerie quirked a brow. “Is there a problem? I noticed the faithful haven’t diminished at all.” She sat at her desk and waited for Leliana’s explanation.

“How is your brother? He’s still in Kirkwall, yes?”

The question unsettled Valerie; Aidan had served for years in Kirkwall. Her twin had transferred there as soon as he graduated.  Leliana knew this. _So why ask?_ Years of working together had prepared Valerie for the seemingly innocent questioning techniques Leliana used; navigating the rest of the conversation would take patience and a sharp focus. “I believe you know the answer.”

She sighed and dropped into the chair against the wall, rubbing her face. “Can we not spar today? This is serious. I need to know if I—or rather we—can trust your brother.”

Indignation crept up her spine; Valerie resisted the instinct to lash out, protecting his honor.  “Of course you can, but why not reach out to the Commander? Aidan seems to think the sun shines out his superior’s—”

“Val.”  A stern look shifted the mood in the office. “I believe someone has infiltrated the Order or possibly changed allegiances and now seeks its ruin.”

Holding her response, Valerie considered Leliana’s words and demeanor. _She’s unsettled, even upset. For someone who normally hides any emotional reaction, this makes little sense._ She sat behind her desk, tenting her fingers. The truth of it was, Valerie didn’t believe the betrayal a possibility. Templars didn’t turn on their own.  Aidan could talk her ear off, but he had strong opinions about everyone. The trick would be to get him to open up about those he served with, which wouldn’t be easy. Leliana didn’t understand what a life of service meant in her world. Valerie had served in the Order and then joined the Seekers.  You didn’t turn. Not ever. Those who did met with an untimely end.

“You realize what you’re suggesting. After Meredith? After Alrik? Both of them and their misguided views changed public opinion. We put the new Commander in place at _your_ recommendation; are you changing your position?”

Leliana tapped her fingernails on the desk. “No, of course not. Cullen—Commander Rutherford is loyal to the Chantry and the people of Kirkwall, his reforms and changes have been invaluable.”

“I’m confused.  Why not pick up the phone and contact this Cullen?”

A pointed stare at Valerie met with silence and a widening eye. Neither spoke for several minutes, until Leliana chuckled. “You really are even more stubborn than Victoria; must I spell it out for you?” Valerie shrugged. It wasn’t stubbornness that held her tongue; she wanted Leliana to admit to what she wanted. 

Leliana scoffed. “Fine. Call your brother, see if anything stands out as odd; if he’s noticed new faces, requests for assignments or extreme changes in behavior.” She stood. “Under no circumstances is he to share this with Commander Cullen. I don’t want him taking on this crusade before I am certain there is something rotten in the ranks. Quick and quiet, my friend.  If we find the problem, we excise it without a word.”

Leliana couldn’t order Valerie to do anything, they both understood the positions they held.  If Victoria didn’t know, then Valerie could refuse; the idea of involving Aidan and asking him to keep that involvement secret sat sour in her stomach. “How much does she know?”

“I’ve not briefed her; at least I won’t until we know more. My intuition tells me the Commander is not compromised;  I need you to confirm it.” Her shoulders caved inward. “Should I be proven wrong, the news could devastate Victoria and permanently mar her time as Divine.”

The Most Holy Divine Victoria had sworn her placement of Commander Rutherford signaled an end to corruption in Kirkwall. If it were to be proven otherwise the Chantry’s failure, would exact a high price from them all.

“If it’s that detrimental, maybe I should go and observe.”  Valerie had no intentions of traveling. _I need to see just how committed Leliana is to this possibility._

Leliana’s usual dulcet tone returned laced in sarcasm. “Perhaps a notice in the Kirkwall Gazette? Chantry seeks news of insurgents or clandestine behavior at the Gallows. All tips and information welcome.”  Shaking her head Leliana continued. “I’m asking for your help.”

They had butted heads far too many times to count, but Valerie still wasn’t convinced. She wanted to stress her distaste for the entire endeavor. “You didn’t ask. You never ask, Leliana; skirting around the issue is more correct and in this case you want to involve my brother.”

“He serves at the discretion of the Sunburst Throne.”

“You are not the one sitting upon it. What’s stopping me from sharing all this with Cass?” She cringed the moment the familiar name passed her lips. Valerie swore she’d never parade her friendship with Cassandra, now Victoria, as a weapon between them.  “I apologize.”

If the slip bothered Leliana, she showed no signs merely nodding. “Accepted. Help me. Please talk with your brother. I’ll prepare what little information I have.”

 

l-l-l

Aidan picked up on the second ring. “If it isn’t my _little_ sister, the big shot,” he said, his words peppered between laughter.  “Hey you. Everything all right?”

“Seven minutes separates us, and I’m good. Am I interrupting?” She grabbed a pencil and drew spirals on the notepad in front of her.

A long hum carrying his suspicion nearly caused her to abandon her questioning.  “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

He chuckled in response. “You’re a shitty liar, sis. Come on, spill it. Whoever he is, he’s toast if he broke your heart.”

 _Aidan, you sweet dolt. Of course he would think it’s personal._ “There’s no one. I don’t have time. Relationships are far too. . .complicated.”

“Well, you missed your chance, the Commander has a girlfriend. I tried to explain how you two would have been—”

“Aidan,” she interrupted him to no avail. He continued chatting oblivious to her attempts to stop him. “Aidan!”

“What?”

She exhaled, not wanting to use curt words with him. “Listen, I need a favor. And hear me out before you answer.” Not waiting for his reply, Valerie launched into her request. “Something came across my desk and it’s about Kirkwall.”

“Shit, really? Maybe I should get Cullen in on this. He’d want to know.”

She couldn’t risk it, not after Leliana made it clear to keep the inquiries quiet. “No. I know what I am asking goes against the Order’s expectations, but it’s imperative you say nothing.”

“Val, what is going on? No lies, no Chantry doublespeak.  Talk to me.”

The edge to his voice made her heart ache; Aidan’s loyalty to the Order had never wavered, even during Kirkwall’s darkest times. “There might be someone at the Gallows who doesn’t see things as you do—a foe of the Order posing as one of you—an enemy in the ranks.”

“No. It’s not possible. No one would do that. Your information is wrong.” 

Pressing her lips together, Valerie had to press him. “And if it’s not? I don’t want to believe it, but I have to ask. You don’t have to help me; I can go back and say I didn’t find out anything vital. I’m not going to force you to answer.”

 

l-l-l

Her story stopped at the sight of his reddening neck and ears. Valerie hadn’t even broached the subject of their findings yet and it was clear Cullen wasn’t taking it well.  “You’re angry with me.”

Lips pursed, he shook his head in a slow, deliberate answer before speaking. “No.  I’m not angry. I’m wondering why I wasn’t consulted. Was I a suspect? Is that the real reason I was asked to resign?”

"No. The real reason has nothing to do with you or your service.” She reached for his hand and was surprised when he took it without hesitation. “I don’t want to hurt you.” A cold grip closed around her chest, knowing what she would have to tell him. “There were three possibilities. Three Templars who had a reason to hate; one of them was Aidan and in truth, I believe I was being tested as well.”

“You? Aidan? But, why? Aidan loved the Order; he could never have worked against it.” Cullen slipped away and stood, turning to face her. “And you? What possible reason could either of you have?”

Valerie had never shared the tragedy of their youngest sister; her loss had left a deep wound that would never heal. “Aidan never spoke of the youngest Trevelyan did he?” Cullen confirmed it; he had no knowledge of her. “Evelyn, she was only thirteen when she died.   The Circle at Ostwick forced her to undergo the Harrowing ritual.”

“The Harrowing was outlawed over sixty years ago.” Cullen’s conviction carried in every word. “It simply is not done.”

“Evelyn had no choice. According to the Knight Lieutenant on duty, she had to be,” Valerie’s voice cracked. She couldn’t say it. They never spoke of it; not once since it happened all those years ago.  

“Maker’s blood, how could they? She was a child!” His rant ended as quickly as it began. Something crossed his face; as if all that had been hidden suddenly made sense. His eyes teared. “No,” he whispered. “It couldn’t be true.”

“Cullen?”

He closed his eyes and exhaled, head bowed. “It wasn’t Anders. I know who set the bombs. Maker take me for a fool, I know who did it all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm without a beta right now, if you note anything off, let me know.


	7. A Lonely Heart Learned Its Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While searching through Josselyn's boxes, Cullen remembers how they met. When the pieces fall into place, what will he discover?

Kirkwall Two Years Prior

He’d been Knight Commander for less than six months and already questioned his promotion. Cullen flipped through report after report; his disbelief at the contents compounding in a heap of aggravated sighs coupled with the occasional disgusted scoff. 

The directive he’d received from the Chantry was simple enough to comprehend but fixing the mess that was Kirkwall would take the hand of the Maker Himself.

The city guard requires little assistance; oversight of the ports and customs hadn’t been affected by the upheaval in the Order. The issue contained, albeit too late for a few unfortunate souls, very few outside the Chantry knew what occurred. Four scholars from Kirkwall University had been killed; accused, tried and murdered by his superior and few Templars she’d managed to recruit to her cause.

Insisting the four were using arcane arts and summoning demons to corrupt the students, his superior and a small group managed to capture the scholars and incarcerated them in an old house. One city guard had seen the procession and followed. It was his phone call that alerted the Order to the kidnapping.

Cullen’s fingers combed through his hair and he sighed. His Knight Commander had lost her foothold in reality; she was still raving when the Chantry carted her away under cover of night. He would never forget what he witnessed. She ranted and warned Kirkwall would burn without her.

From the day she arrived Meredith Stannard had impressed peers and the Chantry. She’d excelled as a Templar and advocate for the Order in Kirkwall. With such a distinguished career over the course of her years in service, most expected her to rise to even greater heights, but the woman who left the gallows in handcuffs and leg restraints had sunk far too low for any hope of redemption.

After a lengthy investigation the Knight Vigilant at the Spire promoted him over the phone insisting Cullen assume control. Suspicion and confusion hung heavy in the ranks; the investigation concluding Cullen’s presence and respect of his peers would best help the Gallows return to a state of equilibrium.

He had been their captain and friend, never using a heavy hand; he resorted to calm discussions and appropriate discipline.

“If these reports of drunken antics and cavorting at the Rose while on duty are true, I’ll have to replace every last Templar and start over,” he muttered, tossing the pages to his desk. With eyes closed, Cullen’s hands reached for his neck; a futile attempt to alleviate the tightening knot of futility.

A firm knock on his door needled his unsettled state. “What!”

He looked up from his desk when no one spoke or entered. The interruption served to focus his displeasure on a target, and Cullen rose with such force his chair smacked against the wall. He stalked toward the door and then slowed. Without knowing who stood in the hall, it would do little good to direct his ire toward his visitor.

Taking a deep breath he opened the door and froze. A woman stood with her back to him, juggling with several large duffel bags and her phone to her ear. Clad in the standard Templar uniform, her long black braid swung like a pendulum with every shifting step.

“Is there something you needed?” He hoped the question fell with some hint of sincerity, although the appearance of someone he didn’t know nor expected wasn’t a welcome addition to his day.

“Oh,” she said, turning a little awkwardly on her boot heel. “Yes. . .yes ser.” Her attempt at a salute unbalanced her even more, and both large maroon colored bags dropped with a thud. “Damn,” she muttered, only to realize her slight. With widening eyes, she apologized profusely, her nose and cheeks reddening.   

Had his mood been a little lighter, Cullen might have smiled and tried to diffuse the awkward outburst. He hadn’t meant to scowl. Her sudden surprise at his reaction must have pulled her together, because she stood at attention and thrust a paper at him. “Lieutenant Josselyn Karl reporting as ordered, Knight Commander.

His eyes remained fixed on her opening the offered page, but not yet reading it. “Lieutenant? I don’t recall a transfer request; under whose authority?” He glanced down at the paper. “This isn’t an original; the seal is missing.”

She nodded, keeping her eyes forward. “Yes, ser. I was sent from Denerim, ser. I believe the official document is still at the Spire, ser.”

Everyone within the Order knew how paperwork often disappeared for months on end when sent through the White Spire. The Order still maintained their administrative offices at the historical location, but its efficiency remain deeply mired in ages past and things had a habit of getting lost. He couldn’t chase after the paperwork; not with the growing list of concerns requiring his attention. He nodded, eyes flicked to hers and with a perfunctory smile welcomed her. “See the quartermaster and explain the paperwork delay; she’ll handle it.” He gave a quick wave to his left. “The barracks are two floors down on the left. Welcome to the Gallows.”

 

l-l-l

Three weeks had passed when he remembered the missing paperwork during a meeting with his second. Rylen Trent was a good man from Starkhaven; tough but fair, he’d earned the respect of those left in the rubble of Meredith’s destruction.

“Nothing else then?” Rylen stretched out, and nearly propped his feet atop Cullen’s desk, but a slowly raised brow challenged the action.

Flipping through the papers and schedules, he noticed the name of Josselyn Karl on the rotation list, tapping her name with his finger.  “The new lieutenant,” Cullen began, before leaning back in his chair.

“Who? We’ve not had an arrival in weeks.”

“Josselyn Karl.”

The corner of Rylen’s lips lifted. “Oh?”

Cullen shook his head. “Don’t start; did the Spire ever send her transfer paperwork?”

A scoff and disappointed scowl crossed Rylen’s face.  “No one asked me to check on it. Hang on,” he said, pointing to Cullen’s phone. “May I?” He cleared his throat, shook out his hands and smoothed his hair before picking up the receiver and dialing. 

“You’re not funny in the least.” He allowed Rylen far too much room for his antics, but it kept the mood lighter considering.  A feigned pout was quickly replaced with a grin.

“Hello, Annie. It’s your favorite Kirkwall Templar; have a moment to chat?”  A short pause changed the conversation as Ryle pulled the phone away and stared at it before responding. “No, although he is sitting right across from me—it’s Rylen.”  He rolled his eyes at the slight, covering the mouthpiece. “If you only knew the fan club you’ve got, I swear.”

Whispering his reply, Cullen pointed at the phone.  “Never mind, get the paperwork.”

Rylen returned to the conversation. “None taken, Annie. Listen, I’m still waiting on the transfer paperwork for one of my lieutenants. Her name is Karl, Josselyn Karl. She arrived a few weeks ago from Denerim,” his voice raised in question at Cullen who nodded. “Yes, Annie, Josselyn Karl from Denerim.”

He listened as Rylen talked with the clerk; there was little cause for concern. When Cullen arrived from Ferelden, nearly a month jad passed before transfer documents arrived.  When they did, the clerk had made an error on his rank; the documents included a promotional edict elevating Cullen to the rank of Knight Captain, entirely skipping over a fair amount of time in service and appropriate promotions.

Meredith had found the whole affair amusing, and rather than argue with the Spire, she agreed to give Cullen a two-year probationary period. If he succeeded, she would honor the promotion. This was different. Josselyn had somehow landed a position at city hall. Rare for a lieutenant and a recent transfer at that to pull such a rotation.

His attention focused once more on Rylen’s conversation.  “Thanks Annie, you’ll send it along?” He nodded, a silent confirmation all would be settled. “Any message for the Knight Commander?” Rylen waggled his brows.  “For you? Anything.”  He hung up the phone and stood, holding his arms wide. “Come on, give us a squelch. Annie’s request.”

Cullen nearly laughed, but shook it away. “Not bloody likely, sit down.”

“Yes, ser.” Rylen complied and leaned back in his chair. “Good news or bad news?”

“Good, first and then the bad.”

“Right,” Rylen seemed to think about where to begin. “So, according to your biggest fan, Annie, Josselyn Karl’s paperwork just happened to be on her desk and she’ll have it signed and sent this week.”

It was the Spire’s typical response to any inquiry.  “What’s the bad news?”

“I don’t believe a single word,” Rylen replied.

“What do you mean?”

Rylen stood, crossing his arms. “I doubt they have a clue where the paperwork is, and I doubt we’ll see it before year end.” He strode toward the window. “Remember Liam? Took damn near eighteen months before they realized he’d retired. At least he had the brains not to spend the wages; kept bringing it here for safekeeping. And don’t get me started on old Giles. He’d been buried for four months before the Spire figured it out.”

Cullen didn’t need the reminder, but now he had to wonder what to do with Josselyn. Protocol dictated they place her on leave until the documentation could be verified. “So, do I place her on leave or let it go?”

With a shrug Rylen suggested a few alternatives. “What about Hawke? She’s rather helpful when it comes to such things. Maybe she has a contact near Denerim that could verify for us?”

Tapping his hand on the desk, Cullen realized he’d not considered Marion, and pulled out his cell. Pressing the numbers on the screen, he lifted his phone.  She answered on the second ring. “Before you say anything, I need a favor on Templar business.”

“Tell the Templars to piss off, and I’ll consider us even,” Marion’s sarcasm came through loud and clear.

“Hawke, I’ll do no such thing. I need someone checked out for a reference, and I’d prefer it be done without breaking any laws.”

Rylen snorted a laugh, but Cullen waved him away.

“You know, I think I liked you better when you let me do whatever I wanted,” she replied.

Knowing his audience, Cullen chose his words carefully. Marion had a way of twisting a conversation, giving a scandalous edge just for the fun of it. “I have never let you do any such thing.”

“Spoilsport. Fine. Give me the details and forty-eight hours.”

 

l-l-l

The long week had finally given way to the promise of a quiet respite. Cullen had accepted Marion’s offer of her beach home near the coast where he and AJ could simply rest. He’d worked without a break since Meredith’s removal and the Order’s therapist ordered a week long break. Rylen would handle any issues and was under orders to leave Cullen to his rest, unless a crisis arose.

The matter of Josselyn Karl’s identity had been confirmed by Hawke’s Ferelden contacts to her satisfaction, and the paperwork would arrive eventually from the Spire.

With the weekend traffic sure to escalate, Cullen had practically been dragged from his office by Rylen and a few others to find a truck fueled, groceries packed and AJ panting happily in the front seat waiting for him.  Rylen opened the door. “The truck belongs to Hawke, and so does the warning. ‘You break it, you’ve bought it.’” Cullen stepped up into the cab and sat.

“Of course, I’ll take care of it.”

Rylen closed the door and nodded toward the truck bed. “Aidan Trevelyan helped me with the provisions. Good man.  I didn’t know what to get your fierce predator there, and Aidan offered to come along.” Cullen muttered quick thanks. “Oh, I guess I should mention I paid for everything on your account, so maybe hold those thanks until you see the bill.”

“Anything else?”

“I swear to make every effort to leave the Gallows standing and not burn it down.”

 Cullen chuckled. “I can ask for no more, then. See you in a week.”

 With a sharp salute Rylen sent Cullen on his way.  The drive to the coast had lifted his spirits almost immediately; stress and obligations faced within the city proper faded behind them.  The coastal sun hung low in the sky, and night seeped in from high above staining the sunset in deepening shades of blue and violet reaching the horizon splashed with the remnants of an orange sky.

Cullen parked the truck outside the sprawling beach house and heaved a sigh. Giving AJ a long scratch behind his ear, the two sat in the truck cab for several minutes. “Well? How about we eat and then take a run on the beach?”  AJ barked. “I’ll take that as a yes. Come on buddy.”

He’d carried up several bags from the truck and had returned for his duffel bag and AJ’s bed, when a small, red car barreled up the drive and nearly collided with the truck. Josselyn Karl climbed from the vehicle her finger pointed squarely at his chest.

“How dare you! If you questioned who I was, why not ask me?!" He hands flew of their own accord, punctuating her anger and underscoring her accusations. "You sent men to Denerim? Who are you? What right do you have to harass _anyone_ about me?” She stomped up the drive, her hair wild and free in the evening breeze. Eyes wide and glaring, she reached where Cullen stood. “What gave you the right to investigate my life? Is this how you keep order with violations of privacy and intimidation?”

He looked at her sideways, recognizing his aggravation and consciously curbing the anger at the intrusion. “You’re angry with me for acting within my right as the Knight Commander? Please explain what violation occurred? You arrived without proper forms, disheveled and unable to explain your presence? You clearly ignored my request to visit the quartermaster and have the matter sorted, because I was left to contact the Spire and inquire as to where on the Maker’s green ground you originated. And now you followed me? Choose your words carefully.” He huffed a few breaths and then realized his error, but bit back the apology straining to get out.

Her earlier ire suddenly melted into something far more vulnerable and regret filled him, but Cullen remained silent. Josselyn answered him, far more timid and resigned than he expected.  She stumbled over words and struggled to speak evenly. “I. . .I didn’t. . .I apologize. This was rash, even for me. Forgive me. You were well within your rights to secure the safety of the Gallows and I should have been more diligent.” Her hazel eyes searched his face before continuing. “I was excited when I arrived, the mere idea of a real assignment away from family and such blinded me to my obligations.”

He straightened understanding his acceptance of her apology would only solve a portion of the infraction. “Your apology is accepted. We will discuss the rest when I return and determine your future and the location of a more suitable post.”

Her expression fell, along with her gaze, and she retreated a step or two before advancing with hands raised. “Knight Commander, please reconsider. You’ve got to understand. I’d lost my older brother only a few months before my transfer. When your man started asking questions about me, my parents . . .they. . . panicked, thinking I’d suffered a similar fate. Surely you can see where my anger originated, as inappropriate as it was, you invaded my life first.”

 

l-l-l

It was that exchange that began the conversation between them born of anger and resentment, it took time for them to learn and grow closer. The pain gripping Cullen’s face hardened; he didn’t need to remember the rest. _All of it—lies, an act by a gifted performer to gain my trust and,_ he used the same word as she had years prior _, invade my life_.  A curt apology muttered carried him from the living room; Cullen’s long strides led him toward the spare bedroom. _Please be wrong._ A hasty plea crossed his thoughts. _Sweet Maker, let it be a false memory._

He’d not known what to do with Joss’ belongings. She had no family to speak of and throwing it away seemed too cold. Marion and Merrill had packed everything for him; the excuse to hold on to a part of her seemed to satisfy his friends. He couldn’t be sure what each box held; there were at least a dozen of various sizes, but Cullen searched for two specific boxes. At no more than a foot square, he hoped they had not been discarded.

Behind him, the floorboards creaked; Valerie likely stood in the doorway. “Forgive me, I need—”

“I’m so sorry. I should go.”

He almost agreed; afraid of what she might think of him if he found proof. His heart dropped at the thought, and Cullen realized he could not let her go. He stopped searching the piles and turned to face her. “Val, please don’t leave.”

She slipped inside the room and rested her hand on his shoulder. “All right,” she said softly, affection and gentleness covering him.  “How can I help?”

“I have a vague memory of a photograph. I’d never given a second thought to it, but when you mentioned your sister?” He pressed his fingers against his temple, trying to rub the memory free. Tarnished and hidden under layers of the past; all he had was an overwhelming sense of familiarity. “In the packet you gave me were several photos, I think I recognized one of them.”

“Cullen, you don’t have to do this; it wasn’t your fault.”

His jaw tightened.  “Wasn’t it? Is that why you came to Kirkwall?”

Her hands gripped his forearm. “No! I only put it together after you mentioned the calls.” She nodded toward the box piles. “We could be wrong. This whole exercise is nothing but supposition and desperation.”

He couldn’t stop, not now. “Then help me.”

They worked in silence; shifting boxes around to locate the two Cullen insisted were stashed in the room. As the time passed, his aggravation grew.  Musty clothes and discarded books stirred up dust and stale air adding to his frustration until his anger lashed out and toppled the pile closest to them.  “Where are they?” He’d used the room as storage, the bedroom too small for any other use.  The other two bedroom s had been cleared of every trace of her.   _Joss must have destroyed them._

Absent steps led him into the hall. The heavy weight of truth pressed him against the wall and he sighed.  Valerie followed. He couldn’t face her, his voice barely above a whisper. “It was her, wasn’t it?” A sliver of hope waited for the denial he knew Valerie couldn’t deliver.

Her response matched his tone. “I wish I could say what you want to hear, but the calls, your sudden schedule change, and now the missing boxes point to one thing. She was trying to protect you.”

“Protect me? What about all those people? Josselyn, she—”

Valerie reached for him and stopped, backing away.  “You wanted to know why you were asked to resign?  If I’m right, the Chantry wouldn’t allow the information to pass into public view.  It would destroy faith in the Chantry and stain the Order.”

The pained expression and saddened eyes staring up at him stopped the angry retort building in his head. _It’s not Val, it’s Joss who did this, and I allowed it._


	8. In The Wee Small Hours of the Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their meeting with Leliana wakes Cullen in the early morning hours. Unable to sit still, he steps out to run a few errands, but returns a changed man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of an interlude, I'd wanted to try doing something a little different. The story resumes as promised in the next chapter.

_What if I’m wrong?_ Valerie had to consider the possibility. It was a guess based on what little information she had.

The search had resumed for something, only Valerie couldn’t be sure if he still hunted for the photograph or simply some level of understanding. Cullen hadn’t spoken a word, but every time his eyes caught hers her heart sank lower. _He’s hurting, and it’s my fault. Instead of setting him free I’ve made it even worse._ Val knew the answer. He wouldn’t like it, but there was one who could answer definitively. The question was—would she?

Using the excuse of needing a moment, Val ducked from the room and hurried toward the bathroom. _One call and I’ll make it quick._ Leliana owed her a favor; Valerie intended to collect.

Her counterpart never bothered with greetings; Leliana insisted such pleasantries were a waste of time. She answered halfway through the second ring. “I thought you were done with us.”

Anytime Leliana spoke, her voice had a leading quality to it, as if she knew what you would say even before you did; she simply waited for you to admit it. “I need your help.”

“I see,” she replied, “why now?”

If Valerie allowed it, Leliana would continue on with veiled questions and guarded responses. “Josselyn Karl. I know you know more than the report contained. I need,” she stopped mid-sentence, hoping that the truth would appeal more than an order. “I want to help Commander Rutherford understand he wasn’t to blame. I’m certain this Josselyn was a false identity.”

“You’re correct.”

 _Typical Leliana. Never offer anything when you can get more in return._ Valerie bit back her annoyance. “Then please, for Cullen’s sake. I need the rest and before you say no, I’m cashing in my favor.”

“It’s _Cullen_ now? My, haven’t we been busy?”

Leliana’s goading was normal; Val had grown used to the probing questions about her free time. Victoria often chided them for acting like children. The truth was simpler. She preferred privacy and Leliana preferred gossip and secrets expecting Val to share everything. It wasn’t about immaturity. They were different. “So, what’s your answer? Will you help?”

The long silence didn’t faze Val knowing her counterpart well. Leliana likely considered her options. More importantly, she wouldn’t allow the cached favor to be claimed later. Hoping the prospect of clearing the field between them appealed, Valerie remained silent. It took a minute longer before Leliana responded. “I will see you tomorrow at noon at your hotel, make sure _Cullen_ is there, otherwise there is no deal. I need to see this for myself.” The call ended with nothing more.  

 _I need to see this for myself_ , Valerie mimicked Leliana’s clipped words and then scoffed. “She’s nosey,” Val muttered. “It has little to do with anything other than the self-satisfaction at finally learning something personal.”

Valerie didn’t expect to see Cullen when she stepped into the hall. She read the weight of their evening on his face; he’d paled a bit, exhaustion pulling on his strong features. His eyes questioned her before he asked if she was well. “Is anything wrong?”

Her noisy exhale knit his brows together, and Val quickly dispelled any doubts. “I’ve cashed in a favor and in doing so I hope I can ease your mind. Tomorrow should bring some answers, but now you should rest.”

Raising a single brow at her directive, Val brightened at the reemergence of Cullen’s more playful side. “Is that right? I should rest. Will you tuck me in, or perhaps a story?”  He nearly laughed, but then sobered as if the moment had passed and he returned to his melancholy. “Forgive me, I,” he sighed. “Would you stay? Please? This place. . .its. . .well, it’s,” his voice trailed off.

“Too many ghosts?” Val had said the same about Kirkwall the day they met. She guessed Cullen might be overwhelmed and even feeling a little lost, but she could offer comfort. Mustering a light smile, she agreed to stay.

 

l-l-l

The bells at city hall woke Cullen; the richness of the low tones announced another day. AJ's snores from the living room mixed in soon after. A deep resonating rumble filled the apartment, followed by a near whistle as the mabari exhaled. AJ did nothing lightly. _He’s on his back again_ , Cullen thought with a smile, surprised Val could sleep. _Well, we didn’t quite fall asleep right away and_ , he stopped mid recollection, a wave of warmth washed through him and he nearly reached for her until reason interfered. _Easy there_ , his logical side cautioned, _give her a chance to sleep_. 

He slid from the bed; the nearness of her still beckoning him to stay. She did not stir, but the slow and subtle movement of the bed sheet enough proof she slept far more soundly than he ever could. Cullen willed the floorboards to keep quiet and slipped through the half closed bedroom door.

To dress, he needed to open the closet or the bureau and he wanted to avoid the added noise; unsure what might end her peaceful slumber. The laundry basket atop the dryer in the hall thankfully held his folded running clothes, but Cullen would skip the run in favor of a quiet morning.

Sunrise announced itself through the living room windows, and the stuffy air and rising heat in the apartment would grow even more stifling if Cullen didn’t open the windows.  He reached for the window latch and it turned without a sound, the sill giving way with gentle pressure, allowing the morning breeze to sail through. Grabbing a long hook from the corner, he opened the two stained glass awning windows above.

Neither would help the airflow, but hinged open, the sunlight threw reflections of colored patterns on the floor and furniture. _Now you’re just showing off_ , he thought, and continued the argument with himself. _I believe that was the point of putting them in._  

His forced retirement left an even deeper chasm threatening to swallow him whole. Renovations and slight changes to bring some peace into his living space seemed the best course of action. _It’s not like Marion cares, after all._  

A laugh threatened to break free thinking on his landlord and her dislike of building maintenance. Once promoted to Knight Captain, he decided having a personal space of his own made sense. He’d almost changed his mind when the agent mentioned Marion Hawke owned the building; the last thing he needed was a friend who could enter his private space without so much as a phone call if she wanted.

It took Cullen a week to realize Marion likely didn’t even remember she owned it. Warped window and door frames needed repair and care. He was so involved with the Order when he moved in, every free moment was so precious to his state of being. Instead of much needed rest, he worked on the apartment until Marion felt a momentary twinge of guilt and reimbursed his expenses.

The apartment had been his home for years. A sudden realization struck him. He could blame it on the conversation and subsequent revelations, but a twinge of pain in his chest refuted his excuse.

 _Josselyn never made this her home; she never intended to remain._ A renewed sadness threatened. _Stop. Valerie sleeps in your bed. She is real. This is real. Whoever Josselyn was, she wasn’t—_

A loud snore shook him free before he could sink deeper into yet another dissection. AJ’s single mindedness allowed him to attack one thing at a time with complete abandon. Still sprawled on his back, the mabari cared little for more than his own comfort. His rear legs twitched a few times as if he halfheartedly bounded off after something in his dreams. His jowls flattened on either side of his snout, occasionally flapping with each exhale.  

Cullen knew it a waste of energy trying to move AJ at all. That was the thing with mabari; their fierce loyalty made them a popular breed, but one had to accept a simple truth—their stubbornness exceeded their loyalty. Not even food could tempt AJ when he wanted to sleep.

His stomach grumbled at the thought of food, but Cullen knew the state of his provisions. He glanced at the wall clock. _It’s almost half six._ He could get to the bakery and the market stand a few blocks away and still leave more than sufficient time for a proper breakfast before they would need to leave. _Write a note and make it quick._

A small wooden box held loose memo sheets of paper on the sideboard; his nephew, Cillian, had made it the previous year.  Cullen scribbled the note without hesitating, slid it from the table and returned to the bedroom. Valerie had turned over at some point, his pillow hugged to her chest. He tented the paper and left it on the dresser before slipping out of the room again.   

Despite the futility, he attempted to shake AJ awake; he even whispered his intended destinations and promised a treat if AJ joined him. The mabari answered in something akin to huff and grumble, his lips flapping in what Cullen took as displeasure to the intrusion. _That’s a no then_ , he thought, opening the closet near the front door. While slipping on his shoes and tying the laces, he made a mental list of what he would need, concluding he’d return within an hour.

Once outside, Cullen took the more direct route instead of his usual morning routine. Cutting through the alleyways wasn’t always the best idea on a warm day. Kirkwall’s nights were often cooler than one might expect thanks to the Waking Sea, but if the clouds burned away with the morning sun, it was sure to turn hot and muggy—again, thanks to the Waking Sea.

The problem with using the cut through wasn’t so much the heat, but the smell and the potential obstacles posed by the haphazard attitude toward refuse. One of Marion’s friends owned the collection business, but he paid far too little attention to it, until she often threatened to have it all picked up and dropped at the front door to his home as a _friendly reminder of his obligations to the city_.

Varric was a writer. He had a following, and that fan base demanded most of his attention. The problem was, he’d lock himself in his Hightown mansion and hide for days while finishing the latest installment of his trashy series of books while his businesses crawled to a halt. He and his brother owned a fair number of businesses. Sanitation was but one of them. The Hanged Man, Cullen’s watering hole of choice was another, co-owned with Marion.

As he turned down the alleyway, the absence of refuse bags and empty boxes suggested someone had made sure the sanitation trucks were running. He exited onto Market Street and turned toward the shops. Most wouldn’t open for several hours, but with the city guard and Templars working round-the-clock shifts, several had embraced earlier hours.

His first stop, the Market Stand usually delivered his weekly provisions; he’d cancelled the week’s order as he’d spent so much time with Val, it made little sense. A small bell jingled when he pulled the door open, the rush of cool air mixed with earthy vegetables and fresh herbs.

Moving quickly through the aisles, he’d intended to grab only what he needed for the morning meal and leave before the market busied with more patrons; it would lead to conversations and he didn’t have time to spare.

A slap on his back and hearty laugh surprised him, but the greeting that followed coaxed a grin.

“If it isn’t Knight Commander Cullen,” Rylen’s mussed dark hair and bright eyes slid in front of Cullen. Rylen laughed with such energy and mirth, Cullen couldn’t tell if he was simply pleased to see him or fatigued from a long shift and a little loopy.

“I retired remember? Morning, Rylen. On your way in?”

“No, thank the Maker. I had to cover an extra shift.” He winked. “Are you sure you’re happy sitting around and knitting, darning socks or whatever you do to pass the time now? I did not understand what trying to fill your shoes would be like.” He looked around as if checking for prying eyes and ears. “No wonder you were always so crabby. I swear most arrive for their shift with their brains still resting on their pillows.”

Cullen chuckled. Rylen wasn’t wrong. “I keep busy.”

“So I’ve heard,” he said with a brow arched high. Rylen peered inside the basket. “That’s not your usual, my friend, and it looks like quite the breakfast,” he said with a slight accusatory hint to his voice. “Could it be the rumors are true?”

He wasn’t about to get into any part of his time spent with Val. _Marion and her gossip network, no doubt. I must deflect this so I can go._ “Yes, the rumors are true, I eat.” Cullen threw in a smile for good measure. “We need to catch up, but I have one more stop and then-”

The grin that crossed Rylen’s face grew until it grabbed his eyes, creasing them from the effort. “And then. . .what or rather _who_ are we running off to, hmmm?”

Either he shared the info now, or he’d have to later, but Cullen’s thoughts drifted to Val waiting and hopefully still asleep in his apartment. He didn’t want to be rude, but saw no other way. Cullen straightened and shifted around Rylen depositing his basket at the register, giving the clerk his customer number and asked for the items to be added to his monthly bill. “That’s classified, I’m afraid,” he tried to say without inflection.

Even the clerk hid her laugh when Rylen broke into peals of laughter before clasping Cullen’s shoulder. “You’re a terrible liar, but I get it. Hush hush. I’ll drag it out of you later.”

Rylen made Cullen swear he would call and make plans to get together. The threat of showing up uninvited armed with as many _guess what Cullen did when he was a recruit_ stories sealed it. Running into Rylen hadn’t been a problem and as always, their conversation and interaction left a lingering smile.

The bakery wasn’t as empty, and Cullen waited, his thoughts drifting. It was true he missed the interaction and structure the Order had given him, but there was no possibility he would return. _The question is what’s next?_ Without starting another internal argument, he considered only one possibility. _As long as I can walk alongside Val, it hardly matters._    

When he was asked for his order, Cullen picked up a few extra sweet rolls for AJ. He had acquired a taste for the sweetened cheese rolls they offered. Shopping complete, he exited the bakery only to find Rylen waiting in his battered red convertible.

It had belonged to another Templar who had been a mentor and Rylen refused to retire the car, even though the cost to keep it running from year to year surpassed that of a newer vehicle. The red paint had stripped away in so many places, and in others it chipped in a thin strip if anyone touched it.

“Come on, get in,” he said jerking his head to the right. “I know you don’t need the help, but you’re getting it, anyway.”

Cullen couldn’t find another excuse. “All right. Thank you.”

A quick glance over his shoulder was all it took. Rylen turned the car around and headed back toward Cullen’s apartment. “No joke, I’m glad whatever I’m not supposed to know about happened. Joe told me a little.”

Unsure if the bartender at The Hanged Man had spoken to Rylen, Cullen said nothing.  

“It’s not the time, and it’s not my place to say anything, but you deserve this. That’s all I wanted to say.” Rylen sighed and glanced at Cullen. “I lied. I know you didn’t want to leave the Order, and trust me, I’d much rather you lead, but I’m still your friend. I’m around if you ever need to talk, vent or just grab a drink, all right?”

“Thank you.” Cullen couldn’t deny the sincerity beneath Rylen’s words, he couldn’t think of anything more to add. The conversation ended as the car’s brakes squealed when Rylen stopped the car. “We’ll catch up. I promise,” Cullen said, opening the passenger door. “I mean, I can’t have you ruining my mystique.”  He closed the door gingerly; afraid the door might crumble from too much force.  

“Maker forbid. Just remember my friend, I know everything you did. And!” He raised his index finger to stress whatever would follow. “I know how to make up some fantastic shit, too.” He winked; giving Cullen a quick salute before he drove off.

Shaking his head in amusement, a sudden sobering thought changed his mood. _I’ve avoided everyone; hid in this apartment with AJ because—_

The door opened. Val’s greeting ended as her eye met his, she stiffened pulling him inside the hall and into the apartment. “Did something happen? I saw the car. Who was that? Did he threaten you?” Her questions grew louder, but her tone remained even. “Cullen, what’s wrong?”

She coaxed the bags free from his hands and carried them into the kitchen returning to him. He stared. Val wore one of his shirts; it was one of the casual white ones he almost never wore. A hint of her bare chest pulled his eyes for only a moment before he stepped closer and kissed her.

Her hair was still damp, and she smelled of his soap. Cullen had always believed it carried a light, clean scent, but on Valerie it reminded him of sunny woods and wildflowers, places he’d forgotten still existed. Places he’d visited as a child and was happy. It was Val, she had restored him, and given him another chance to live. _Then tell her. Tell her how you feel._ Their kiss ended and his head rested against hers, lips still lingering near hers. “I love you,” he said softly. “I really do.”  


	9. It Never Entered My Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen learns Josselyn's secret. The truth of her identity proves too much, leaving him lost and in need of help. He reaches out to a friend for perspective and a little understanding.

Cullen’s eyes unfocused and his vision blurred; the rumbling in his ears had dissipated, but the thrum remained. Even though he sat; his balance faltered for a moment, the floor beneath his feet dropped away taking his stomach along with it.

On the verge of either giving in to the seedlings of despair or arguing against the truth despite the futility, Cullen’s fingers tightened into a fist; his fingernails pressing against his palm.

_This is. . .this isn’t a nightmare. It’s. . .I don’t. . .it can’t be._

His hands were numb; losing feeling and warmth added to the strangeness. He’d slipped away in his thoughts but couldn’t remember what had sent him into reflection. Clearing his throat Cullen couldn’t speak. The words were there in his head, and he recognized the purpose behind them but when he tried to speak it was as if he’d forgotten what they meant or how to put them together.

_I need to know. I need to know. Did she. . .how. . .but then. . ._

Opening his mouth, he tried again using a simpler question, one that should have fallen out without effort, but this time the dryness of his throat stopped him. His hand raised to the front of his neck; massaging it did little to soothe whatever had stolen his voice.

“Cullen?”

The resonance cut through the murk and his vision sharpened. _It’s Valerie_. She spoke his name again, her strength and affection covered him in comforting waves, dispelling his stupor. Her hand clasped his and the warmth of her skin against his solidified his presence in the room.

“Hey,” she said softly. “We don’t have to go any further. You don’t have to listen.”

It was then he remembered what had shocked him. Everything he knew about Josselyn was a lie. “No, I have to hear this,” he said with a sigh. _I need to know_ , he thought before finishing aloud. “It’s the only way to move forward and dispel the hold of her memory.”

“How touching and rather admirable, considering.” Leliana said from the chair nearby. She stared at her fingernails as if all of this was an inconvenience despite the fact she had called for the meeting. Her sarcastic indifference succeeded in raising his ire and he frowned, but Valerie intervened.

“Can we get back to Josselyn?”

“As you wish,” Leliana began, “although it might be better if we all admit there was no such person. Josselyn Karl was a false name, and she was never a Templar.”

Leliana fell silent, the weight of her words sat heavy on Cullen. “She wasn’t a Templar,” he said, closing his eyes. The simple revelation had been the key to understanding for him, and the haze of emotion cleared.  “She knew enough to fool a fair few. Are you sure?”

Nodding she rose from her chair. “Do you remember the four men killed by Meredith Stannard?”

His voice dropped to a whisper. “How could I forget. Had I refused the leave of absence, maybe I could have intervened.” His voice quieted and then resumed. “Meredith had insisted I take time and visit family. I thought it odd, but she seemed so lucid. She’d assured me the complaints levied against her were false and she intended to prove it at the inquiry.” He straightened. “At first, I’d argued, she’d sent a few of my staff on an errand to Nevarra.  I wasn’t comfortable leaving given the state of things.”

Leliana hummed in agreement. “Do you remember who Meredith sent?”

“Rylen Trent, Belinda Darrow, Aidan Trevelyan, Roderick Barclay, and Jessa Whatley.”  He glanced at Valerie, unsure if she knew.

“Two lieutenants, two officers, and your aide,” Leliana kept her eyes on him. “So the contingent sent away comprised the whole of your immediate staff as Knight Captain.”

 _It was all of them, wasn’t it?_ He rubbed his face talking through it. “Those I relied on most. Maker’s breath.” He shook his head at the implications. “If I had known the extent of what was happening.”

Leliana’s smile was as false as her reassurances in Cullen’s eyes, but he dared not challenge.

“No one did. Had the Chantry understood the depths of her madness, we would have removed Meredith rather than wait for the inquiry. With you and those you trusted away, Meredith and three others arrested four scholars, locked them in the abandoned holding cells at the Gallows and executed them.”

He knew. Hawke had found him at his sister’s home. She shared the news with him and demanded he return before anyone else suffered because of Meredith. “I should never have left, I know that, but I can’t change the decisions of the past.”

Valerie’s sympathy was far more genuine. “I’m actually shocked you agreed to leave at all; it seems odd given what I know and witnessed with your dedication to Kirkwall.”

Surprised that she questioned him; Cullen hesitated. He intended to answer, but Leliana laughed beating him to it. “The Knight Vigilant change his mind; the old fool didn’t believe any of my findings surrounding Meredith and accused me of an unfair bias against the Order.”

Staring at Valerie, a knot formed in his gut. _Why do I feel as though neither of them believe me? What should I have done? Ignored it all and insisted I remain? Would Meredith have found another way to carry out her plan?_  Valerie and Leliana talked around him, oblivious to his growing discomfort.

“He wasn’t far off,” Valerie said. “You’ve never been convinced of the Order’s purpose. I see no reason to deny it.” Val held up her hand to stave off the inevitable argument. “However, you were not wrong about Meredith.”

“Thank you.” Leliana slid a folder from a satchel near her chair. “Inside are the photos of the four men Meredith claimed were insurgents, with plans to attack the city and the Gallows. Her assumptions were incorrect.”

Opening the folder, Cullen flipped through the photographs knowing he would find the photo that had eluded him.  The last in the group showed a man with a grim expression, stolid perhaps at having to sit for the photographer. There was nothing overly remarkable about the subject, but Cullen was certain he had seen it several times. “The names of the four were kept from the public, but I saw this picture long before I met Valerie.”

Leliana agreed. “The Chantry thought it best. In hindsight, perhaps we should have been more forthcoming with the truth, it might have helped.” Cullen thought he saw a hint of emotion cross her face; her brows lifted, and he couldn’t tell if she planned to speak or offer any more explanation for the silence and lack of compassion by the Chantry for the unnecessary losses. “His name was Karl Thekla. A known companion of the man we know as Anders and the older brother of Rosemarie Thekla—known to you as Josselyn Karl,” Leliana said, before shifting a pointed stare toward Valerie.

“This is almost too tidy for one of your investigations; why do I sense there’s something more to all this?”

Cullen listened to Valerie’s question, but his attention never left Leliana. There was more, he could tell. She tried to appear impassive, but the way she looked at him with an underlying sympathy told him he wouldn’t like whatever revelation she’d held back.

“I’ll assume you know of the Apostates, and are familiar with the names of their organizers, so I won’t bore you with known facts. Only one thing matters now and that is the identity of one Romey Nora.

Romey Nora was a member of the radical faction known as the Apostates. They formed in response to the Ferelden-Orlesian war to protest the unnecessary loss of life.  While kingdoms fought for supremacy, both sides were backed by the Chantry to further its interests and guarantee its inclusion.

The Apostates grew in secret until they announced their arrival in fire and smoke.  Kirkwall had never been among their targets until the Chantry exploded. They never made demands. There was no manifesto, no doctrine to their cause—only destruction.

Cullen’s hand covered his mouth. He couldn’t be sure if he’d done so to prevent a response or to stave off the discomfort filling him. “You’re saying,” he swallowed, his throat dry pained him, but he had to push on. “You’re saying that Josselyn. . .Rosemarie was,” he shook his head, clearing his throat. It wasn’t fear that prevented him from finishing the thought. It was guilt. _Romey Nora_ , he thought _, I allowed her inside the barracks, the Order and_ , he stopped, once more the realization of all he had caused pressed down upon him with such force, he could not move.  

He wouldn’t finish the thought, he couldn’t. Not here in front of the Chantry’s emissaries. Cullen closed his eyes. _I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Val._ Without facing her he stood and scooped his keys from the coffee table. “I can’t,” he started to say, but his voice sounded hollow, devoid of any feeling. “I can’t do this.”

“Cullen?” There was only a hint of confusion in Valerie’s voice, she reached for him but Cullen pulled his hand away feeling only the slightest brush of her fingers.

“I. . .forgive me.” Ignoring her repeated questions, Cullen left the room and halted his retreat halfway down the hall. _You’re a bloody fool._ He almost turned back, but turned instead toward the stairs. _Anywhere but here_ , he thought, pulling out his phone and sending a message to the one person who he could trust wouldn’t judge. It was short and to the point, but it never needed to be anything more.

_I need your help._

l-l-l

 

Rylen whistled; the sound was long and drawn out, as if he couldn’t find words after Cullen unloaded everything that had occurred.  “Shit,” he said after an even longer pause.  Lifting his hand and pointing up with his finger, Rylen started to speak and then shook his head before sinking back against his chair. “Shit.”

“Exactly.” There was some silent contemplation across the table; Rylen’s forehead creased while his fingers drummed against the table. Cullen usually found such actions distracting; he’d chastised Rylen for doing so in their meetings on numerous occasions. _You’re not in any position to correct or demand anything._   “You should arrest me, you know.”

Eyes widened for a moment, and then Rylen scoffed. “Don’t, just don’t.  You fell for the wrong woman. You’re not the first man in Thedas to do so and trust me, you won’t be the last.”

Frustration mounted in short bursts and Cullen’s legs grew restless; demanding they be allowed to stretch, run, or do anything either than remain idle, but he tightened his muscles to remain still. “This isn’t about a failed relationship and you know it. It’s my fault; had I just questioned the transfer,” he said, looking for more reasons to accept the blame. “The closer we became, I must have lost all sight of the truth.”

 “Don’t build the pyre just yet, my friend.” Rylen pushed away from the table.

“But—“

“Hold that thought. I need a drink.” The interruption halted Cullen’s lamentations and Rylen crossed the kitchen snatching a kettle from the stove along the way to the sink.

Cullen nearly questioned Rylen, but he remembered the man didn’t touch alcohol. “No dulled senses, right?

 “You remembered,” Rylen said with a laugh. “One thing I learned from my mum; serious discussion calls for a clear head and strong tea.” The water hit the kettle making a tinny sound at first, soon replaced by only the rushing water. He capped the kettle and placed it on the small stove. “Now, food.”

“You don’t have to go to any trouble, I’m fine.”

The younger man turned on his heel. “Yes, well, I’m bloody famished, so we’re eating too.” The small refrigerator, if it could be called that, barely reached three feet high. Rylen had to crouch to rummage through jars and take out bags.

“Your selection is rather frightening. I’ll pick up the tab if you want to call out for something.” It was the least he could do. Rylen had not hesitated when Cullen reached out.

The other stood, closing the door to the antiquated appliance. “Offering to pay? Now I know you really are a mess.” Cullen’s questioning brow didn’t stop Rylen’s jibe. “All I’m trying to say is that in all the years we served together, you never went in on food runs.”  

Cullen shrugged, the change in subject allowed the numbing uncertainty to dissipate. “I liked the food from the kitchens.”

“Of course you did.” Rylen snatched his phone from the kitchen table. “Do you trust me?”

Had it not been for the lightness of Rylen, Cullen would have sulked quietly, but instead his joviality led Cullen to a far brighter headspace. “In matters of food not at all, but have at it.”

Rylen directed Cullen to the balcony. “Give me a few and then I’ll help you see the truth, all right?”

 

l-l-l

 

As the afternoon gave way into night, Rylen had proven his point. “So you see, Joss or Romey or Rosemarie, by whatever name she used didn’t skate by. She never missed a rotation, never shied from an order. She played our game,” he offered. “And she did so in such a way that we believed nothing other than what we were all fed. “ He paused and laughed while shaking his head. “Shit.”

“What?”

He leaned back in the deck chair. “You know what I just remembered? A few weeks before the rotation change, Belinda recommended Joss for promotion—and you know Bel thought no one was good enough.”

Cullen never saw the recommendation. “I didn’t know. It must have slipped one of my captain’s minds and he forgot to pass it on.”

Rylen’s face scrunched. “Actually,” his speech slowed, each word separated. “I ignored it. I thought you might not look at the idea objectively, so  I’d sent it to the Spire instead.”

Indignation swelled, but Cullen quickly dismissed his aggravation as Rylen had acted appropriately. “You were right to do so. Clearly it never reached the Spire, small favors.”

A quieted hum answered Cullen. “What happens next?”

“Nothing. Whoever she was, we were all fooled. It doesn’t bring anyone back, nor does it absolve us of complicity.” This time Cullen’s resignation to his involvement fell in a quieted sigh, but Rylen’s hand on his shoulder shook Cullen free of his melancholy.

“That’s enough of the pity. I wasn’t talking about her. I meant the other one. The woman you’re really in love with, because let me tell you, you are so gone I have no idea why you’re sitting on my balcony at all.” He held out his hand. “Your phone, please, and make sure it’s turned on.”

Unsure what Rylen needed with his phone, Cullen dug it free and reluctantly handed it over.  “I fail to see what my phone has to do with Valerie.”

Rylen turned the phone so Cullen could see the screen. “Fifteen missed calls. That’s what it has to do with Valerie. She’s not your enemy, and she’s probably hurting that you’ve shut her out.”

He disagreed. “It’s better this way.”

“Get down off the pyre and think about someone else.” Rylen frowned. “If you fuck this up, you deserve to be miserable. So, with respect? Get out of my apartment and go to her, because if you don’t, you’ll regret it.”


	10. I'll Be Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen hovers in a cloud of uncertainty. He knows Valerie waits to hear from him. When he finally gives in and reaches out, it serves to drive them further apart in both unspoken concerns and distance.

Cullen’s thumb hovered over the phone screen. In the log he could see the calls he’d made recently. Rylen had urged him to reach out to Valerie. Her name stood out; highlighted in thick blue letters, he’d marked it as an important. All he had to do was tap it and wait to hear her voice. He owed her some explanation and as Rylen pointed out, _she called me fifteen times._

One or two calls showed concern, but the presence of an identical number of messages revealed even more. He’d listened to every one of them, some even more than once.

_I can’t imagine what you’re thinking or really what I should say. Cullen, if I could take it all back? Of course I can’t take it back that was stupid to even say. I’m. . .I’m sorry. So. . .so sorry. Please call me; at least tell me you’re all right. If it still matters, I love you._

It had mattered the first time he listened to the message and the longing he felt hadn’t dissipated by the fourth time, but Cullen didn’t call. Not her. He swiped his thumb to the right and pressed the screen.

Marion answered, and started to talk. It took a moment for him to recognize the urgency in her voice. “Void take you, Cullen! Are you still there? Where the fuck are you?”

He took a deep breath before answering, his voice a shadow of its usual tone. “On my way home,” he said. His wistfulness must have surprised Marion, because she answered more calmly, matching him.

“Maybe,” she began and then taking her time, she started again. “Maybe you need a break. The beach house is empty if you need to get away.”

It took Cullen a minute to reply. _Do I need to get away?_ “Maybe,” he said, wondering if Marion heard the hesitation. Reaching the stoop of the apartment building, he stopped. AJ’s welcoming bark carried through the open windows, and despite the relief at hearing all was normal inside, he sighed.    _Is it, though? I don’t think I can stay here_ , he thought. Cullen couldn’t be sure if he meant right now or ever, but it hardly mattered beyond his immediate need.

“Cullen?”

Marion’s concern sharpened his focus. “I’m here, I’m not sure if I’m doing the right thing—leaving, I mean. What would you do in my place?”

He heard her call for Merrill to grab various keys before returning to him.  “Loaded question, if ever there was such a thing, but I can’t help if I don’t know what’s taken hold of you. We’ll be there in an hour; don’t collapse under the weight of the world just yet.”

 

l-l-l  
  
Even the waning light of the afternoon passed without notice inside Cullen’s apartment. Shadows lengthened until the dusk gave way into twilight. Inside, AJ sat with his head in Merrill’s lap; she only too willing to give him attention while Marion listened to Cullen’s recounting of all he’d learned.    _  
_

For her part, Marion sat silent. Her brow arched occasionally; the gesture a silent question begging for clarification. Cullen obliged every look, hum and sigh, speaking freely to those who had never doubted him.

Once finished, Cullen leaned back in his chair; his eyes swept the room. He knew the wide eyed stares and lingering glances between his friends carried a secret conversation between them, and for once he wasn’t sure he wanted to know their thoughts.

Marion reacted as Cullen expected. “Shit,” she muttered shaking her head.  Merrill protested with a light cough and her brows knit together as she stared at Hawke. “What? It’s a fucking mess; I’m not saying anything that Cullen doesn’t already know.”

She tossed a sympathetic glance toward Cullen, leaned closer to Hawke, and quieted her voice. “Yes, but could you try to be a little less, umm” she paused, tossing in another hum while she seemed to struggle with the next word. “A little less—you and be a little more understanding. He’s had a rough day.”

And then something he didn’t expect happened. Under normal circumstances, Marion would have balked and cursed, dismissing Merrill’s light chastisement with some off color statement or vulgar reference to some sexual act—but not this time.  Marion stood without a word and approached him, Cullen rose out of politeness, certain his confusion plain for any to see.  For a moment he thought she might pass him on the way to the kitchen, but instead she did something so out of character, he froze. Marion hugged him. She slipped her hands and arms so quickly around him, Cullen stiffened at the oddity of affection. She didn’t speak, but he heard and felt her breath hitch, as if for one moment Marion Hawke allowed her emotions out of their carefully erected prison inside her.

Merrill peeked around to meet Cullen’s eyes. “You can hug her, if you want, I think it’s safe.”

He returned the hug and Marion laughed into Cullen’s shirt. Without breaking her embrace she answered. “This is your one free pass Cull. Tell anyone and I’ll fucking kill you.”

A disgusted sigh from Merrill almost coaxed a smile from him as she exclaimed.  “You couldn’t this one time be as sweet and loving as I know?”

A playful shove separated them. Marion lifted her eyes to meet his and answered Merrill while giving him a wink. “Lies, all lies.” She pressed her lips together. “Come on, we’ll get you and AJ packed and you can head out to the beach house.”

“I don’t know.” He had to consider Valerie. She deserved an explanation, and instead he was essentially running from the problem. “What about Val?”

Marion shrugged. “What about her? If she cares, she’ll wait for you.” When he didn’t move, Marion frowned. “Oh come on, don’t do that bewildered puppy look thing. “

He crossed his arms, questioning her. “What bewildered puppy look thing?”

It was Merrill who answered. “It’s cute, you get all,” she frowned and pouted a little, blinking her eyes a few times. “Like that.”

The emotional moment they had shared left with Cullen’s swift indignation. “I most certainly do not.”

Tapping the side of her nose, Marion grinned. “Oh you most certainly do. Now go pack a bag. We’ll get AJ’s stuff in the truck.”

He tried once more to protest. “But—“

“But nothing,” Hawke said, shooing him into the hall. “You need to get out of here and you know it.”

He nodded. _It’s this apartment. If I’m to have any peace, I can’t stay here.  I’ll call Valerie when I arrive._

 

l-l-l

 

The beach house sat empty, shadows tinted blue and grey from the moonlight. Surf pounded out a lazy rhythm nearby adding little comfort to the strangeness. He inhaled; stale air a sudden reminder of how long it had been between visits. Cullen unlocked the glass door leading to the deck, giving it a light shove.

The screen door slid into place and he dropped the security bar into the track. _I don’t need AJ wandering the shoreline without me._

Soft breezes carried in the scent of the waking sea and Cullen inhaled. _There is no smell of the sea_ , he reminded himself, _just the cooperative exhalations of millions of little unseen creatures._ He shook his head at his conclusion, hearing Hawke’s laugh in his head.

_“You’re overthinking, Cull.”_

Another deeper breath filled his lungs and he held it admitting to nothing before taking a longer look around the first floor.  Reaching for the light switch, Cullen paused; deciding he preferred the muted moonlight to anything harsher.   Inside, banners hung loosely from the beams; their multicolored flags and letters muted in the dim light as a vague remembrance of a happier times drooped with time. He couldn’t recall if the decorations had been there the last time he visited or if he had missed a birthday or anniversary event. He was reaching for any sense of normalcy and finding none, let his attention wander.

AJ padded across the tile floor not bothering to wait for his bed, he rested near the screen door. The mabari sighed in increasingly heavier breaths until he snored. Confident AJ would sleep until  he was good and ready to greet tomorrow, Cullen set about unpacking the essentials; AJ’s food and water bowl came first.

Dumping the dry food into the metal bowl, Cullen glanced toward the mabari’s chosen rest spot. Even the sound of his favorite food filling the quieted kitchen did little to stir the slumbering hound.

_At least one of us is sleeping regularly._

Moving his attention to the box provisions, Cullen couldn’t believe the contents as he emptied two boxes and three large bags. Marion had given him enough food for at least ten days. “She’s trying to be helpful,” he whispered before completing the thought silently.  _How long did she expect I’d stay here?_

His tasks complete, Cullen stopped to give AJ a few pats before heading up the stairs to the guest room. He couldn’t bring himself to use the largest bedroom, no matter what Marion had said.

_“It’s just a bedroom; not any more mine than anyone else’s. It’s not like it matters.”_

He preferred the guest room. It was slightly smaller, and the bed faced the door, rather than the window. Storms were frequent out to sea, and the lightning proved distracting for sleep. Without bothering to shed his clothes, he slid atop the comforter and tried to sleep, whispering a reminder to call Valerie when he woke.

Hours later, he abandoned the idea of rest. With his eyes open and alert, his heart and mind waged a silent war, leaving Cullen its sole casualty. Even the Waking Sea seemed unsettled; the clear night and bright moons illuminated the waters well beyond the breakwater.

He stood on the deck. Cullen read the turmoil of rolling waves and gusting wind as a mirror of how he felt.  Leaning on the railing, he waited, but for what exactly, he didn’t know. His phone vibrated against the wooden beam of the hand rail. A small white envelope announced a message from Marion.

_Did you make it in? Better have. I’m not up for a drive this late._

Had he forgotten to text them? Cullen scrolled the message list and sighed realizing he’d neglected to send confirmation of his arrival. He quickly responded.

_Apologies, I seem to be a bit out of sorts.  We’ve arrived. No cause for concern._

It wasn’t a lie. He’d been to the beach house numerous times; a welcome respite over the years, but not this time.  Josselyn only followed him to the beach house the one time; he couldn’t recall she’d ever returned, even when he had asked.

 

l-l-l

 

_Schedules were often a mix of annoyance and missed opportunities, but coordinating their time proved enven more difficult. Often Cullen would finish his shift in time to see Josselyn checking in for hers. The rare occasions when they had the same day off were savored._

_Josselyn had several days to burn before inspections began, and Cullen had considered the possibility of finally using a few days off to join her, if not for the yearly assessment deadline approaching.  With Rylen away visiting his family, Cullen had to cover the night shift. This change granted him precious time during the day to spend with Joss._

_“We should go,” Cullen whispered into her hair. “Marion has no use for the place in the off season.”_

_Josselyn shook her head gently. “I thought you had too much to do with the assessments.”_

_She wasn’t wrong. The performance documentation was due in two weeks.  “I can work on them sporadically.”_

_Her hummed response carried a hint of knowing what it meant. “And what am I doing while you’re working?” She shifted to face him. “It’s only a break if we’re both free.”_

_He sighed and inhaled her scent; a mix of honey and a summer blossom he could never quite remember. It lulled him into promising nearly anything to stay as they were. “Fine. No work, I promise.”_

_“Liar,” she said with a hint of laughter to her challenge. “I’ll bet you won’t last ten minutes without checking your phone or reading a file.” She nodded with certainty._

_“And if I do? What will you give me?” Cullen knew she wasn’t far from the truth._

_This time she laughed and shook her head at the same time; her disbelief breaking through the humor of his response. He imagined a perfectly arched brow given in his direction before she answered him._

_“Before or after I wake from the shock.”_

 

l-l-l

He frowned.  Josselyn’s ghost had followed him; the memory of her unwilling to fade. The phone buzzed again, and Cullen checked the time _. Nearly three._ The small message icon appeared beneath the time, blinking on and off.  The sender had marked it as urgent.

He swiped the screen.

_Could you at least tell me you’re all right? Something? I can’t sleep because I’m almost sure something terrible has happened and it’s more than just having ruined everything between us._

He gripped the phone tighter. “Valerie,” he said aloud at the same time the complete rudeness of his silence struck him. Another buzz and flashing icon announced an additional message.

_I’m not angry. Wait. That’s a lie. I am angry. At what I don’t know. Tell me you’re safe. Tell me you want me to leave you alone. Tell me to fuck off. Just tell me something, anything and I swear I’ll disappear._

 His thumb hovered over the screen. All he had to do was tap the little picture of the phone in the corner. He could delete the message as well, the picture of the bin sat on the bottom of the screen. There was one problem. He didn’t want her to leave. He didn’t want her to disappear.

Closing his eyes he tapped the top of the phone against his forehead and whispered to no one.  “What do you want?” 

 _Valerie_ , his heart replied, and his fingers typed out the message he hoped might open the pathway between them.

_Is it too early to call?_


End file.
